Trying Much, Loving More
by LMSharp
Summary: What makes a leader, and what makes people follow him? A retelling of Lloyd Alexander's Book of Three through the eyes of the people that loved and followed a big-headed boy Assistant Pig-Keeper through the thorn bushes all the way to Caer Dathyl, with the Horned King and all his legions behind them. Rated for safety.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Lloyd Alexander is the genius that wrote The Chronicles of Prydain.**

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One of No Station in Life

The enchanter clutched his cloak tighter about himself and the _Book of Three _and adjusted his grip on his oaken staff. The chill wind of late autumn blew his long, white hair and beard back into his face. Dallben sighed. He was weary. So very weary.

The power of Arawn, dread death Lord of Annuvin, was ever growing, and even the mighty Sons of Don were hard-pressed to defend against it. Queen Achren had been cast out by her consort, and now dwelt in Spiral Castle, casting still another dark shadow on the land of Prydain.

Gwydion, son of Math, son of Mathonwy, Prince of Don and heir to the High King of Prydain, was in his thirtieth year. Power had he, and great deeds beyond number, but no wife. No little child. And the High King Math grew older every day. What would become of Prydain, when the pair of them were gone? Dallben well knew. The cantrev lords, hungry as wolves, would tear as beasts at the land. The shield against Annuvin would crumple, and the land would be consumed in death and darkness. Unless…unless…

_The Book of Three _foretold of one that might hold the land together, that might shield against evil and one day rule all Prydain after the Sons of Don at last passed from the land. One who would slay a serpent, who would gain and lose a flaming sword, one who would choose a kingdom of sorrow over a kingdom of happiness, and one of no station in life. The prophecies were dark to Dallben. _The Book of Three _was a tricky thing, all shadows and maybes and ifs. The promised high king might arise next week, or in fifty years' time. He might never arise, even, if the conditions for his rule never came about.

But Prydain needed him badly, and so Dallben had gone abroad, nigh three years ago, searching out one of _no station. _He had not found any to meet that description. He had met many of high station. Kings and cantrev lords abounded in Prydain. He had met bards and landowners and farmers. He had met many of low station. Widows and down-on-their luck merchants and outlaws and beggars. But never had Dallben come across one of _no_ station.

At last, wearied with his efforts and with the follies of men, he had turned his feet again towards his own little cottage, towards Caer Dallben. He was a week's journey from it still, and the winter was coming on fast.

Dallben impatiently shook his head to get his white hair out of his eyes and trudged southward still. There would be no rest in these parts for him. A cantrev lord had died recently, died without naming an heir. He had many sons, and the wretches had not hesitated to turn sword and soldiers against their brothers. Farms had been burned, and entire villages put to the sword. The ground hereabouts, so Dallben had heard from a bard farther eastward, was stained crimson with blood, and the skies were black with carrion crows.

Just as these grim thoughts occurred to Dallben, and he began to look around for a likely tree to sleep under for the night, the wind shifted. Dallben's stomach heaved, and he brought his hand up to cover his nose. He emerged from a stand of trees and looked on without surprise.

The vast field he beheld now was covered with corpses. A tattered standard fluttered in the lonely wind. Dallben could not make out the device. It hardly mattered now, he thought, grimly and sadly. Columns of smoke arose from off to the north. Dallben knew a village must be close, and knew just as surely that it lay silent, scorched, and empty. Not three feet from the hem of Dallben's cloak lay a man impaled by a spear. His face was frozen in an expression of fear, pain, and hatred. He had been dead perhaps two days, Dallben thought, and already a column of ants was climbing up his cloak to feast on his dead flesh. A raven perched on the golden helm of a man near to the standard and, crying out raucously, it bent its sharp beak to pluck out one of the cantrev princes' eyes. Dallben felt no pity for the dead man. He was one of the authors of this massacre.

On the far edge of the field, Dallben saw yet other corpses. Not warriors, as the ones nearer him, but others. Farmers, villagers, clad not in armor but in roughly-woven homespun wool. Dallben bowed his head sadly, seeing even women and children staring empty-eyed at the sky, pierced through by swords and spears and arrows. The raven cried out again, but then another noise broke the deathly silence of the battleground.

Dallben raised his head. His brow furrowed. But there it was again, rising weakly from the trees on the other side of the bloody battleground. Something yet lived in this place of death. Dallben skirted around the corpses, just as happy to move upwind of the bodies that were already beginning to rot. He followed the sound, just past some of the slain women and children and a little ways into the trees. It was coming from under a low bush. Dallben knelt.

An infant yet lived. Its eyes were shut and wrinkled and it was crying as loudly as it could. Dallben frowned. It was not as loud as it should have been crying. How long had the child lain here alone? The infant's cheeks were pale and dirt-stained. The little fuzz of black hair that covered its head had more than a few leaves from the bush in it. And a smell arose from his woolen wrappings that made it abundantly clear this was no miracle, fairy child.

Dallben gingerly picked up the child. He had not much experience with infants, living alone as he did with only his sorcerous tomes. But of course he could not leave the babe under the bush. He placed the child down again and removed the cloths surrounding it. The first thing to do was obviously to clean up the mess it had made, and then to see if he couldn't find it something to eat. Did it even eat yet? Was it old enough to have been weaned?

Awkwardly, Dallben cleaned up the child's mess as best he could. The infant was a boy-child, and a strong one, for all that he had likely lain abandoned for two days at least. Dallben discarded the infant's soiled cloth and tore up his wrappings to make a new one. It was a rough, rude job he made of it, he thought ruefully when he'd done. Perhaps he'd find a farmwife that could do a better. For sure he could not care for this child.

Dallben wrapped up the infant again and stood, bearing him in his arms. He looked down at the child curiously. The infant had ceased his wailing, but his grey eyes still shimmered with unshed tears as he regarded Dallben, and his little lip quivered. He whimpered. "Well," Dallben said. "And what am I to do with you, my boy? Who are your parents? Where are you from?" He brushed his hand over the child's head, trying to extract some of the leaves from his little thatch of black hair.

Dallben looked back at the battlefield. "Did your mother hide you here before the battle began, child? Wise she was, for I fear she, and your father too lie slain." Dallben sighed, and fumbled for his water skin. He held it to the infant's lips, and the liquid dribbled into the boy's mouth. He hoped the child had been weaned, that he would drink the water and hold it down, too. He did not know if that was so, but the boy swallowed the water greedily enough, until Dallben judged that tiny as he was, and hungry as he was, it was best if he had no more at present, lest it disagree with him.

The boy whined in protest as Dallben withdrew the skin and waved his little fists. Dallben frowned at him. "Silence, child," he told the infant sternly. "You'll have more soon enough. Greater sorrows will befall you than having to wait a bit for your supper. Indeed, greater sorrows have befallen you already, though I daresay you scarcely know that. No matter. You will come to know well enough in time, I fear."

Dallben walked southwards again, more slowly this time, carrying his tiny burden. He really must seek out someone to take the child, he thought. A nice farmwife. A lonely cantrev lord- perhaps in the valley someplace, with serving women aplenty to take charge of an orphaned infant. But which would be better? Who had this infant been? Prince had lain side by side with peasant on the battlefield on which his nameless mother had been slain. He might be a princeling, or a bastard, a farmer, or a craftsman. Why, this child could be anything. Anybody.

Dallben blinked, and looked down with fresh eyes at the boy-child. Here indeed was one of no station, he thought. Funny, that he should find such a one, having given up. Sad, too. Could this be the one the _Book of Three_ foretold? Could this child grow up to be High King of all Prydain? Silent tears were streaming from the little boy's grey eyes, and he shifted restlessly in Dallben's arms. Something in Dallben softened towards the child, and he drew him up to his breast and patted his back.

"There, there, my boy," he said. "Just a little further now. Then we'll make a fire and see if you can't eat something after all."

Dallben walked with the boy perhaps another five miles before he stopped underneath a tall, sturdy oak. Collecting some dried wood from the forest around, Dallben lit a fire with his magic staff. He ate some bread from his pack, and then looked doubtfully at an apple. Then, taking up some water, and a rock, he mashed the apple by means of his magic into a strange sort of paste that he hoped the child could digest easily enough, and fed the infant with his fingers. It was a messy business, especially when the infant burped up five minutes afterward. But Dallben washed his hands in a nearby stream, and then sat across from the fire watching the child.

The little boy-child had dried his eyes, smacked his lips, and had at last gone to sleep. Dallben turned his staff slowly in his hands. An infant of no station in life. An orphan. A foundling. Dallben frowned. He had been just such a one- he knew not how many years ago. After _The Book of Three_ had come into his hands it had all gone muddled for a time. Had it not been for the kindness of Orddu, Orwen, and Orgoch, if kindness it could be called…

Dallben shifted. Truth be told, future High King or not, he felt an odd kinship with the child. He didn't altogether _want _to give him up, however much easier it might be for him. And if this boy truly might grow into the High King of Prydain and shield all the land from evil, was it not Dallben's responsibility to see that he grew well?

Dallben chuckled. Had it come to this, then? Had he, Dallben, the crotchety old enchanter, decided to raise this infant, this boy, alone and unaided? It would be uncomfortable, to be sure. Dallben was no woman, no nurturer. He was an old man. Great enchanter he might be. Wise he was considered by bards and kings all across Prydain. But of children? Of children he knew next to nothing.

"Well, and what of it?" Dallben asked himself. "The day I've nothing left to learn, I might as well lay down and die."

He regarded the sleeping babe, and nodded. "So be it then. My boy, may the gods be with you. You will need all their aid, I fear." He frowned. "I can hardly go on calling you boy, though, can I?" He thought for a moment. "Taran," he said then. "Your name shall be Taran. Taran of Caer Dallben. It is a strong name, ready for the making. Bear it well, my boy. Make of it something magnificent."

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**A/N: So I love the Chronicles of Prydain. I LOVE them. I love Taran. He definitely makes the list of fictional characters I've had a crush on at one point or another. But Taran also frustrates me. He's always so hard on himself. Granted, that's a very large part of why I love him. But I wanted to give the other characters in the series a chance to give him the praise he never gives himself. I mean, Dallben and Coll obviously loved him. Gwydion saw something in him. Fflewddur Fflam was a king in his own land, and a warrior of note. Even as flighty as he was, why did he essentially give up leadership of the group the moment he met Taran the boy Assistant Pig-Keeper? What makes a leader, and what makes people follow him?**

**I tried to answer those questions with this story. Because I've already written the entirety of this one, updates are every Wednesday. **

**Leave a review to tell me what you think.**

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp**


	2. An Assistant Pig-Keeper

**Disclaimer: Much of the external dialogue is from Lloyd Alexander's amazing Book of Three, which is why I disclaim the internal dialogue. **

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I.

An Assistant Pig-Keeper

COLL

Coll snorted, and folded his arms, eying with misgiving the lump of iron his charge was mangling. If Taran had been paying any attention at all he'd be doing better, Coll knew. The boy was quick and strong, and good with his hands. But he'd been daydreaming about glory and battle again, or at least what he thought battle was like. They'd never get anything done at this rate.

Taran dropped the hammer and turned pitifully to Coll. "Why?" he demanded. "Why must it be horseshoes? As if we had any horses!"

He impatiently ran a hand through his thick black fringe and blew out impatiently. Coll flicked his eyes meaningfully at the mangled curve of iron on the anvil. "Lucky for the horses," he muttered.

Taran reddened. "I could do better at making a sword," he cried. "I know I could."

Coll moved to stop him, but Taran had already grabbed the tongs, snatched another bit of hot iron up, and begun hammering at it like mad.

Coll raised a hand. "Wait, wait! That is not the way to go after it!"

Taran couldn't hear him. The idiotic boy was beating the iron out of shape like his life depended on it, and Coll would be surprised if he came out the other end of the din with any sense of hearing at all. And for sure the iron would have to be melted down. Taran was beating the iron beyond any usefulness whatever. Coll dodged as the bar, now twisted and knotted into some unearthly shape, flew off the anvil to lie sparking on the ground.

Coll crossed his arms. Taran picked up the iron again with the tongs and held it up to the light. His brow furrowed and a self-conscious blush showed beneath the soot on his face.

"Not quite the blade for a hero," Coll said.

"It's ruined," Taran agreed, never backward in coming forward. He laughed a little. "It looks like a sick snake."

"As I tried telling you," Coll reprimanded him. "You had it all wrong." He took the tongs and hammer from Taran. "You must hold the tongs- so. When you strike, the strength must flow from your shoulder and let your wrist be loose. You can hear it when you do it right. There is a kind of music in it. Besides," he frowned, "this is not the metal for weapons." Coll cast Taran's warped 'sword' back into the furnace.

Taran sighed. "I wish I might have my own sword," he said wistfully. "And you would teach me sword-fighting."

Coll clicked his tongue. Taran had no idea what battle was. So much the better, in his opinion. "Why should you wish to know that?" he asked the boy. "We have no battles at Caer Dallben."

"We have no horses, either," Taran said quickly. "But we're making horseshoes."

Coll made a face at the impudent boy. "Get on with you. That is for practice."

"And so would this be," Taran insisted. "Come, teach me the sword-fighting. You must know the art." He looked up at Coll with an expression so trusting and eager that Coll had to smile. Of course Taran had no idea. Coll was glad enough that his fighting days were over, but the boy was more right than he knew.

"True," he murmured. "I have held a sword once or twice in my day."

Taran's eyes brightened. "Teach me now," he begged. He took up a poker and lifted it proudly, swiping as if at invisible enemies and prancing around the forge. "See? I know most of it already."

Coll laughed. "Hold your hand," he said. "If you were to come against me like that, with all your posing and bouncing, I should have you chopped into bits by this time." He looked over at Taran. Gods knew he hoped the boy never had to know, but still…"Look you," he said finally. "At least you should know there is a right way and a wrong way to go about it." He picked up another poker. "Here now, stand like a man."

Taran did so, and thus Coll began teaching the boy swordplay. Taran was an eager pupil, and his arms were strong. But of course he knew nothing of defense, nothing of the forms of swordplay. Coll told him, a little. How to hold the poker, how to move his feet. Taran obeyed his instructions readily, and his face filled with such pride and confidence it was all Coll could do not to laugh. The boy came at him, grinning, brandishing his poker, but Coll swung at him and pressed him back.

At least, he did until Dallben showed up. Dallben stood there in the doorway of the forge, glaring like thunder. "Stop that nonsense directly," he said. "I am surprised at you," he told Coll. "There is serious work to be done."

Coll felt his face heat up, and he looked at the poker in his hand. With some amazement, he realised that he had allowed the boy to come at him with a poker for half an hour together, when he'd been meaning to teach him how to forge a horseshoe and sharpen a hoe.

Taran shook his head and stepped forward. "It wasn't Coll," he spoke up stoutly. "It was I who asked to learn sword play."

Dallben's sharp eyes fixed upon Taran's soot-streaked face. "I did not say I was surprised at you," he said quietly. Coll saw amusement and sadness in almost equal measure behind the enchanter's wise old eyes. "But perhaps I am, after all. I think you had best come with me."

Taran bit his lip, but nodded. He put down his poker, and left Coll to the forge. Coll tidied the place up and shut the door. He made his way to the water pump, and used the water there to wash his hands and head.

The boy had been growing more and more restless of late. It was all very natural. He was fourteen now, so they thought, anyway. He had never been anywhere but Caer Dallben, and scarce seen a man or woman besides Coll and Dallben. To a lad like Taran, hot-blooded, clever, and strong, Coll knew their small farm must seem rather dull.

Still, he yearned, and Dallben yearned too, to protect the lad. Caer Dallben was a good place, a quiet place, a peaceful place, in a land that was so often bloody and senseless. The cantrev lords fought ever more bitterly among themselves. The shadows of Annuvin grew ever longer.

Coll was glad he was well out of that life. He scowled now as he recalled his long journey, ten years ago now, to Annuvin and back in search of his pig Hen Wen. He had not known until Arawn, Death Lord, captured her that there was anything out of the ordinary at all about her, but when Dallben the enchanter had told him that she possessed the gift of prophecy, well he knew he could not leave her to Annuvin. He had journeyed to that dark, horrible land at great risk. He had saved Hen Wen, and taken her to the only place where he knew she might be safe. To Dallben.

Dallben had been very kind to him, and to Hen Wen. And in return for the enchanter's shelter, Coll had taken charge of the old man's farming, and helped him with his young charge Taran.

He had grown to love the boy every bit as much as Dallben did, and a few years ago had been made privy to Dallben's hopes for the lad. Coll grabbed a basket and went to see about the vegetable garden. He snorted. The proud, reckless Taran didn't seem like he'd ever grow into any sort of king most days. Nevertheless, he was a good lad. When he wasn't daydreaming, that is. He was even more help than hindrance around the farm, these past couple years.

Taran found him a bit later. His face was red, and creased with pain. Wordlessly, he held up scorched and blistered hands.

Coll sighed. "You have been at The Book of Three," he said. "That is not hard to guess. Now you know better. Well, that is one of the three foundations of learning: see much, study much, suffer much. Come on, then."

Taran followed him to the stables, and Coll picked out a potion he used to ease the pain of Hen Wen when she spent too long in the sun without rolling in the nice, cool mud. He rubbed the lotion into Taran's fingers.

Taran winced. "What is the use of studying much when I'm to see nothing at all?" he asked. "I think there is a destiny laid on me that I am not to know anything interesting, go anywhere interesting, or do anything interesting. I'm certainly not to be anything. I'm not anything even at Caer Dallben!"

Coll smiled at the boy. "Very well. If that is all that troubles you, I shall make you something. From this moment, you are Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper. You shall help me take care of Hen Wen: see her trough is full, carry her water, and give her a good scrubbing every other day."

Taran grimaced. "That's what I do now," he grumbled.

"All the better," Coll said. "For it makes things that much easier. If you want to be something with a name attached to it, I can't think of anything closer to hand. And it is not every lad who can be assistant keeper to an oracular pig. Indeed, she is the only oracular pig in Prydain, and the most valuable."

"Valuable to Dallben," Taran complained still. "She never tells me anything."

Coll laughed at him. "Did you think that she would? With Hen Wen, you must know how to ask…" Something coming from the direction of the orchard caught Coll's attention then, and he broke off. He shaded his eyes to make it out. A black cloud of something was approaching rapidly, and by the time Coll was able to make out the buzzing and realised it was the bees, swarming, they were almost upon him. He jumped aside, and the maddened hive flew past like a golden cyclone.

"The bees!" Taran shouted. "They're swarming!"

"It is not their time," Coll called back to him. "Something is amiss."

Just then a loud squawking rose up from the chicken run. Taran was quicker than Coll to run towards the fowl of Caer Dallben, but by the time he arrived, the chickens, too, had flown away, rooster and hens. Coll wondered what in Prydain could have frightened them and the bees, but then the oxen began to low, too.

Dallben stuck his head out the window and glared at Taran. "It has become absolutely impossible for any kind of meditation whatsoever," he snapped peevishly. "I have warned you once…"

Taran shook his head in alarm. "Something frightened the animals," he explained. "First the bees, then the chickens flew off…"

Dallben's eyes sharpened, and he glanced towards the barn where the oxen were still bellowing in terror. "I have been given no knowledge of this," he said quickly. "We must ask Hen Wen about it immediately, and we shall need the letter sticks. Quickly, help me find them," he told Coll.

Coll nodded. It was unearthly, whatever was going on. He moved to aid the enchanter. "Watch Hen Wen closely," he said to Taran. "Do not let her out of your sight."

He entered the cottage. Dallben was already digging through his chests of oddments. "Where did I put them, where did I put them," he muttered. "It is the Horned King, Coll," he said. "You know this."

"He moves to seize Hen Wen?" Coll said. "Let him try! Arawn Death Lord himself wasn't able to hold my pig, and you are an enchanter greater by far than Arawn's new puppet."

As he spoke he opened cupboards and looked under Dallben's stack of books.

"That's as may be," Dallben said, briefly examining a lone, mossy boot. "I would just as soon have Arawn's minions a hundred miles away from Hen Wen, however. And from Taran. We must learn from Hen Wen what is to be done."

Coll spied the three letter sticks the oracular pig used to make her prophecies propped up in a corner under one of Taran's spare jackets. He nodded and fetched them. "Best get it done at once, then," he said. "If Hen Wen is as frightened as the other beasts, the lad will be having a time of it keeping her in her pen."

Dallben stopped examining the trunk and took the letter sticks from Coll. Coll followed the enchanter out of the cottage to Hen Wen's pen, and found he had spoken all too truly. Dallben's face turned ashen beneath his beard, and Coll himself felt a twinge of fear and uneasiness.

A hole in the earth beneath the fence, and the imprint of a boy's back in the dirt before it told the story all too well. Tracks of both the pig and the boy led off into the forest north of Caer Dallben.

"She proved too strong for him," Coll said grimly. "She has fled into the woods, and Taran has pursued her."

"I would that he had not done so," Dallben said. "I forbade him to leave Caer Dallben under any circumstances not an hour ago."

"You said yourself that you did not foresee these circumstances," Coll said, "And I told Taran not to let Hen out of his sight."

Dallben sighed. "Let us hope that he finds her and returns here soon, for all our sakes."

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**A/N: I've had such a warm welcome to this fandom! I'd like to thank you all for your kind reception to my little story. I hope Trying Much, Loving More lives up to your high expectations of it.**

**See you again next week!**

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp **


	3. The Youth and the Thorn Bush

**Disclaimer: The prefix says it all!**

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The Youth and the Thorn Bush

GWYDION

It had been one thing after the other for Gwydion, Prince of Don, ever since he had left Caer Dathyl a month past. There had been traitorous cantrev nobles, storms, and not a few times had he had to raise his sword against those that would hinder him on his journey. He had seen firsthand the horrors the Horned King had perpetrated all across Prydain. And now he had come within a day's ride of Caer Dallben and the oracular pig that was the goal of his quest, and he had run into a wounded, fainted boy in the underbrush.

Gwydion judged the boy to be no older than fourteen years of age, though he was tall, and well-formed. A sword had sliced the lad's shoulder, and his face had been torn from plunging through the underbrush. Gwydion had bound up the youth's wound and covered him with a cloak. Now he stood by his mare, Melyngar, anxiously awaiting the boy's return to consciousness. He could not leave him in the forest, nor could he send him to his home before he learned the boy's identity. He had been unconscious for three hours now, and Gwydion was anxious to be on his way.

As the sun began to set, the boy's eyelashes fluttered at last. Gwydion left his place by Melyngar and knelt beside his unlikely companion. The boy's eyes opened, and he shot up with a start. He looked afraid. Gwydion placed a hand on his shoulder and gave the boy his water flask.

"Drink," he said. "Your strength will return in a moment."

The boy looked Gwydion over warily, and gingerly closed his hand around the flask. He eyed it doubtfully. Gwydion smiled. "Drink. You look as though I were trying to poison you." The boy raised the flask slowly to his lips. "It is not thus that Gwydion Son of Don deals with a wounded…"

The boy spat out the liquid and lurched to his feet. "Gwydion!" he gasped. "You are not Gwydion! I know of him. He is a great war leader, a hero! He is not…" the boy trailed off and looked again at Gwydion. His eyes fell on his sword, and Gwydion restrained a smile.

The boy knelt. "Lord Gwydion. I did not intend insolence."

Gwydion helped the boy to rise again. He caught the searching look the boy trained upon him again. His companion bit his lip, looking rather crestfallen. Gwydion supposed he was not dressed in his Caer Dathyl finery at the moment. "It is not the trappings that make the prince," he told the lad. "Nor, indeed, the sword that makes the warrior. Come, tell me your name and what happened to you. And do not ask me to believe you got a sword wound picking gooseberries or poaching hares."

The boy looked over at his shoulder. "I saw the Horned King!" he said urgently. "His men ride the forest; one of them tried to kill me. I saw the Horned King himself! It was horrible, worse than Dallben told me!"

Gwydion focused on the lad with a sudden suspicion. "Who are you? Who are you to speak of Dallben?" he said.

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben," the boy replied, straightening his shoulders manfully, but turning rather pale.

Gwydion looked over the lad with new eyes. It was this one, then? This the one Dallben hoped would grow up able to take high kingship of Prydain when the Sons of Don had gone? He said nothing of this, though. "Of Caer Dallben?" he asked. "What are you doing so far from there? Does Dallben know you are in the forest? Is Coll with you?"

Taran stopped. His mouth dropped open and he stared at Gwydion. He looked like a dazed frog. Gwydion laughed at him. "You need not be so surprised," he told Taran. "I know Coll and Dallben well. And they are too wise to let you wander here alone. Have you run off, then? I warn you; Dallben is not one to be disobeyed."

Taran looked offended. "It was Hen Wen," he protested. "I should have known I couldn't hold on to her. Now she's gone, and it's my fault. I'm Assistant Pig-Keeper…"

Gwydion looked back to the bushes from whence he had extracted Taran. "Gone? Where? What has happened to her?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Taran said. "She's somewhere in the forest." He explained how something had frightened all of the animals at Caer Dallben this morning, and how Hen Wen had escaped and fled into the forest. It was a grim tale. If the Horned King should find the pig before he did…

"I had not foreseen this," he muttered. "My mission fails if she is not found quickly. Yes, I, too, seek Hen Wen."

"You? You came this far…"

"I need information she alone possesses," Gwydion explained. "I have journeyed a month from Caer Dathyl to get it. I have been followed, spied on, hunted. And now she has run off." Gwydion laughed despairingly. One thing after the other. "Very well," he said. "She will be found. I must discover all she knows of the Horned King. I fear he himself searches for her even now. It must be so. Hen Wen sensed him near Caer Dallben and fled in terror…"

"Then we should stop him" Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper cried. "Attack him, strike him down! Give me a sword and I will stand with you!"

Gwydion almost laughed at the boy. "Gently, gently," he said. "I do not say my life is worth more than another man's, but I prize it highly. Do you think a lone warrior and one Assistant Pig-Keeper dare attack the Horned King and his war band?"

Taran looked contemptuous. "I would not fear him."

And yet you fled from him just now, Gwydion thought. "No? Then you are a fool. He is the man most to be dreaded in all Prydain. Will you hear something I learned during my journey, something even Dallben may not yet realise?"

He knelt on the ground. The sun was going down. He would not be able to ride further today whatever happened. He may as well use the time he could not spend searching for Hen Wen to instruct her foolish Pig-Keeper. "Do you know the craft of weaving?" he asked Taran. "Thread by thread, the pattern forms." Swiftly, he knotted a spell together with blades of grass.

"That is cleverly done," Taran said admiringly. "May I look at it?"

Gwydion did not wish the boy to destroy his work. So instead of handing the mesh to Taran, he slipped it inside his own jacket. "There is a more serious weaving. You have seen one thread of a pattern loomed in Annuvin. Arawn does not long abandon Annuvin, but his hand reaches everywhere. There are chieftains whose lust for power goads them like a sword point. To certain of them, Arawn promises wealth and dominion, playing on their greed as a bard plays on a harp. Arawn's corruption burns every human feeling from their hearts and they become his liegemen, serving him beyond the borders of Annuvin and bound to him forever."

Taran's eyes narrowed across from Gwydion. "And the Horned King?"

Not a complete fool then, Gwydion thought. He nodded. "Yes. I know beyond question that he has sworn his allegiance to Arawn. He is Arawn's avowed champion. Once again, the power of Annuvin threatens Prydain."

Taran was silent. Gwydion looked at him. "When the time is ripe, the Horned King and I will meet," he told the boy. "And one of us will die. That is my oath. But his purpose is dark and unknown, and I must learn it from Hen Wen."

"She can't be far," Taran said eagerly. "I'll show you where she disappeared. I think I can find the place. It was just before the Horned King…"

Gwydion cut him off and gestured around them at the growing dusk. "Do you have the eyes of an owl, to find a trail at nightfall? We sleep here and I shall be off at first light. With good luck, I may have her back before…"

Taran shook his head. "What of me?" he demanded. "Hen Wen is in my charge. I let her escape and it is I who must find her."

"The task counts more than the one who does it," Gwydion said shortly. "I will not be hindered by an Assistant Pig-Keeper, who seems eager to bring himself to grief." He stopped then and regarded Taran. Then again, he could hardly leave the boy alone in the forest where the Horned King was abroad. He smiled bitterly. "On second thought, it appears I will. If the Horned King rides toward Caer Dallben, I cannot send you back alone and I dare not go with you and lose a day's tracking. You cannot stay in this forest by yourself. Unless I find some way…"

Taran's eyes lit up with hope. "I swear I will not hinder you," he cried. "Let me go with you. Dallben and Coll will see I can do what I set out to do!"

Gwydion sighed. "Have I another choice?" he muttered. "It would seem, Taran of Caer Dallben, we follow the same pat. For a little while at least."

Melyngar came then and lipped Gwydion's hand. "Melyngar reminds me it is time for food," he told Taran. He shared out a portion of his provisions for Taran from the saddlebags. "Make no fire tonight," he ordered. "The Horned King's outriders may be close at hand."

Taran bolted down the food and tried to lay down at the foot of a tree. But he kept moving about, and from the ginger quality of his movements, Gwydion guessed his wound pained him. He watched the boy in the growing darkness. He was so…young. It had been a score of years and more since Gwydion had been Taran's age. Had he himself been so foolish then? So eager to be slain? He could not remember. Still, there was a certain honor in the boy's speech, a consciousness of duty to Dallben, Coll, and his charge Hen Wen, that was admirable. And there was time aplenty for him to grow.

"So," he said after a time. "You are Taran of Caer Dallben. How long have you been with Dallben? Who are your kinsmen?"

He was very curious to see if the lad, eager to impress him, would lie. But Taran did not. Slowly, he answered. "I have always lived at Caer Dallben," he said quietly. "I don't think I have any kinsmen. I don't know who my parents were. Dallben has never told me. I suppose…I don't even know who I am."

Gwydion heard a long-buried pain in the boy's voice. He looked away from Taran's grief. "In a way that is something we must all discover for ourselves," he said, trying to comfort the lad. "Our meeting was fortunate. Thanks to you, I know a little more than I did, and you have spared me a wasted journey to Caer Dallben. It makes me wonder," he laughed a little. "Is there a destiny laid on me that an Assistant Pig-Keeper should help me in my quest?" He looked over at Taran curiously, remembering who the boy might grow one day to be. "Or is it perhaps the other way around?"

"What do you mean?" Taran asked sleepily.

"I am not sure," Gwydion told him. "It makes no difference. Sleep now, for we rise early tomorrow."

Despite Gwydion's warning, the boy did not rise early enough. Still, Gwydion had not long to wait for him. He was an Assistant Pig-Keeper, used to early farm hours. He rose to his feet heavily, stretching muscles that Gwydion knew would be sore.

"Come," Gwydion said. "We are losing time."

He mounted Melyngar and pulled Taran up protesting behind him. The boy groaned, and Gwydion sighed. Along with a wound and a night of rough sleep after a life spent sleeping in a bed, it seemed the boy had no notion of riding. He said nothing, though, but followed Taran's uncertain instructions towards where he had lost sight of Hen Wen.

Fortunately, they came upon her trail before they had traveled the entire way. Gwydion found the place she had slept, and some tracks. He dismounted, keeping close to the ground so as not to lose the trail. Taran followed after him, watching.

Soon though, the path turned rocky, and Gwydion lost sight of Hen Wen's tracks. "The trail is not clear," he muttered to Taran. "I can only guess she might have gone down the slope."

Taran made a noise of frustration. "With all the forest to run in how can we begin to search? She might have gone anywhere in Prydain."

Gwydion shook his head. "Not quite." Both to explain what he meant to the boy, and to clear his own mind, Gwydion knelt, and drew a map in the earth with his knife. He explained how Hen Wen would avoid Annuvin. Gwydion assumed that Taran would know the story. When it proved that he did not, Gwydion took some pleasure in relaying Coll's story to the lad. Taran was shocked.

"Coll! Not the same…"

"The same," Gwydion said.

Taran's mouth opened and shut. "But…but…Coll? A hero? But…he's so bald!"

Gwydion laughed at Taran's naïveté. "Assistant Pig-Keeper, you have curious notions about heroes. I have never known courage to be judged by the length of a man's hair. Or, for the matter of that, whether he has any hair at all."

Taran reddened. His eyes fell back to the map, and Gwydion was kind and said no more about Coll. "Here," he told Taran, pointing to another point on the map. He explained, briefly, how Hen Wen would avoid the evil of Achren as well as that of Arawn. As he traced the paths on the map, it became clear to him that Hen Wen must have journeyed straight ahead.

He pulled Taran up behind him on Melyngar again, and they rode on down the slope. Gwydion heard the waters of Great Avren again roaring in the distance. The path became grassier, and Gwydion halted the mare. "We must go again on foot," he told Taran. "Her tracks may show somewhere along here, so we had best move slowly and carefully. Stay close behind me. If you start dashing ahead—and you seem to have that tendency—you will trample out any signs she might have left."

Taran reddened, but squared his shoulders and nodded. Gwydion took the lead. He searched the ground for signs of the oracular pig, but saw nothing. He kept track of Taran from the snapping twigs and rustling grass that came along after him. The boy might as well have been a bear, for all the noise he made. Gradually, though, the sounds from behind him lessened, and Gwydion was able to focus more intently on searching for any signs Hen Wen might have left behind her.

That is, he was until a strangled cry broke out a distance behind him. Gwydion whirled. Several feet behind him, and a little off to the left, Taran had been set upon by a creature. He was putting up quite a fight, but his opponent had got the upper hand and was throttling the boy. Gwydion growled in annoyance and strode over to the grappling pair. He seized the creature by the neck and hurled it to the ground beneath a nearby tree. He glared at the wooly man-animal thing. Gurgi.

"So it is you," he told him. "I ordered you not to hinder me or anyone under my protection."

He tilted his head at Taran. "It is only Gurgi," he said. "He is always lurking about one place or another. He is not half as ferocious as he looks, not a quarter as fierce as he should like to be, and more of a nuisance than anything else. Somehow, he manages to see most of what happens, and he might be able to help us."

Taran gasped, massaging his throat. He shot a glare at Gurgi and began brushing the head the creature had shed all over him off of his jacket.

"O mighty prince," Gurgi was sniveling at Gwydion. "Gurgi is sorry; and now he will be smacked on his poor, tender head by the strong hands of this great lord, with fearsome smackings. Yes, yes, that is always the way of it with poor Gurgi. But what honor to be smacked by the greatest of warriors!"

Gwydion rolled his eyes, thoroughly put out. "I have no intention of smacking your poor, tender head," he snapped. "But I may change my mind if you do not leave off that whining and sniveling."

"Yes, powerful lord!" Gurgi yelped. "See how he obeys rapidly and instantly!" He crawled about. "Then the two strengthful heroes will give Gurgi something to eat? Oh, joyous crunchings and munchings!"

"Afterward, when you have answered our questions," Gwydion told him.

Gurgi wagged his head up and down sententiously. "Oh, afterward! Poor Gurgi can wait, long, long for his crunchings and munchings. Many years from now, when the great princes revel in their halls—what feastings—they will remember hungry, wretched Gurgi waiting for them."

"How long you wait for your crunchings and munchings depends on how quickly you tell us what we want to know. Have you seen a white pig this morning?"

Gurgi's eyes darted left and right. "For the seeking of a piggy, there are many great lords in the forest, riding with frightening shouts. They would not be cruel to starving Gurgi—oh, no—they would feed him…"

"They would have your head off your shoulders before you could think twice about it," Gwydion cut him off. "Did one of them wear an antlered mask?"

"Yes, yes! The great horns! You will save miserable Gurgi from hurtful choppings!" he cried and began to howl.

Gwydion crossed his arms. "I am losing patience with you," he told the creature. "Where is the pig?"

"Gurgi hears these mighty riders," the creature said. "Oh, yes, with careful listenings from the trees. Gurgi is so quiet and clever, and no one cares about him. But he listens! These great warriors say they have gone to a certain place, but great fire turns them away. They are not pleased, and they still seek a piggy with outcries and horses."

Gwydion tapped the toe of his boot against the earth. "Gurgi. Where is the pig?"

"The piggy?" Gurgi asked, as if he had forgotten about it. Then he moaned. "Oh, terrible hunger pinches! Gurgi cannot remember. Was there a piggy? Gurgi is fainting and falling into the bushes, his poor, tender head is full of air from his empty belly."

Taran, who had been watching the scene with ever increasing impatience, stepped forward, fists clenched. "Where is Hen Wen, you silly, hairy thing? Tell us straight off! After the way you jumped on me, you deserve to have your head smacked!"

Gwydion turned his glare upon Taran, praying for patience. The Gurgi and a foolish pig-keeper. It was enough to drive any man mad, he thought. "Had you followed my orders, you would not have been jumped on," he admonished the boy. "Leave him to me. Do not make him any more frightened than he is. Very well," he said, turning to Gurgi again. "Where is she?"

Gurgi shivered. "Oh, fearful wrath! A piggy has gone across the water with swimmings and splashings." He waved vaguely in the direction of Great Avren.

Gwydion stared at Gurgi, hands on hips. "If you are lying to me, I shall soon find out," he told it. "Then I will surely come back with wrath."

Gurgi nodded miserably. "Crunchings and munchings now, mighty prince?" he asked in a quavering voice.

Gwydion sighed. "As I promised you."

Gurgi went still and shot a venomous glance at Taran. "Gurgi wants the smaller one for munchings," he said.

Gwydion just shook his head. He turned to Melyngar and began rummaging in one of the saddlebags. "No, you do not. He is an Assistant Pig-Keeper and he would disagree with you violently." He found some dried meat and tossed it to Gurgi. "Be off now. Remember, I want no mischief from you."

Gurgi grabbed the meat out of the air, grabbed it in between his teeth, and scuttled up a tree. He leaped from its heights to another, and then to another, until he was gone.

Taran made a noise of contempt. "What a disgusting beast. What a nasty, vicious…"

Gwydion shrugged. "He is not bad at heart. He would love to be wicked and terrifying, though he cannot quite manage it. He feels so sorry for himself that it is hard not to be angry with him. But there is no use in doing so."

Taran snorted. "Was he telling the truth about Hen Wen?" he asked doubtfully.

"I think he was," Gwydion said. "It is as I feared. The Horned King has ridden to Caer Dallben."

Taran's face went ashen as he recalled Gurgi's words. "He burned it! Dallben and Coll are in peril!"

"Surely not," Gwydion said, putting a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Dallben is an old fox. A beetle could not creep into Caer Dallben without his knowledge. No, I am certain the fire was something Dallben arranged for unexpected visitors. Hen Wen is the one in greatest peril. Our quest grows ever more urgent. The Horned King knows she is missing. He will pursue her."

Taran held his head high, and a determined light was in his eyes. "Then we must find her before he does!" he cried.

It went without saying, Gwydion thought, but he smiled and released his hold on Taran. "Assistant Pig-Keeper, that has been, so far, your only sensible suggestion."

They rode to the banks of Great Avren, and there in the clay beside the river, Gwydion found a clear set of Hen Wen's tracks, the first he had seen for some hours. "Good for Gurgi!" he said. "I hope he enjoys his crunchings and munchings! Had I known he would guide us so well, I would have given him an extra share. Yes, she crossed here, and we shall do the same."

He dismounted and led Melyngar into Great Avren. Gwydion began to swim when they were halfway across the river, keeping a firm hand on the reins. It wasn't until the mare whinnied in alarm that Gwydion noticed something was amiss with Taran. He whirled, just in time to see the Assistant Pig-Keeper being forced under water by Melyngar's churning legs. "Let go the saddle!" Gwydion called at the idiotic boy. "Swim clear of her!"

Taran let go of the saddle, surely enough, but he did not begin to swim. Instead, he floundered, gasping and spitting water. His arms waved rapidly. Gwydion let go the reins, and, with a curse, plunged back after the boy. He managed to grab the Assistant Pig-Keeper by his unkempt black hair when he went under once again, pulled by Avren's strong current. Gwydion swam, dragging Taran, to Avren's north bank.

He flung the boy down. Taran rolled over and lay coughing on the bank. Gwydion's heart raced. If the boy should have drowned! Taran sat up as Melyngar, who had made it to shore a little further upstream, trotted back. "I told you to swim clear," Gwydion snapped at Taran. "Are all Assistant Pig-Keepers deaf as well as stubborn?"

Taran wrapped his arms around himself, shivering violently. "I don't know how to swim," he managed to get out between shudders.

Gwydion paled. Doesn't know how to…"Then why did you not say so before we started across?" he demanded.

"I was sure I could learn as soon as I came to do it," Taran cried. "If Melyngar hadn't sat on me…"

Gwydion cut off the boy before he could finish his excuse. "You must learn to answer for your own folly," he said sharply. "As for Melyngar, she is wiser now than you can ever hope to become, even should you live to be a man—which seems more and more unlikely."

He patted his mare on her nose and swung into the saddle. Yet again he pulled Taran up after him. Gwydion felt Taran shivering behind him, but said nothing. It served the Assistant Pig-Keeper right.

He looked around, and caught sight of three great wheeling birds up above. "Gwythaints!" he cried. He pulled Melyngar to the right and kicked her into a gallop. Taran was not prepared for the change in speed and direction. He fell to the bank with a thud. Gwydion whirled around, cursing again, and hauled Taran up yet again. But the few precious seconds Taran's fall had cost them had allowed the gwythaints to grow closer. They swooped down as Gwydion pressed Melyngar ever faster towards the trees. As soon as they made the trees, Gwydion leapt from the saddle, carrying Taran. He thrust the boy behind him towards a gnarled old oak and drew his sword. Arawn's minions shrieked and dove at them, talons swiping, but they could not get past the trees. Taran cried out in fear and shrank back into the oak tree. The gwythaints dove yet again, failed to penetrate the trees again, and veered off. Gwydion watched them climb grimly. He strode back out to the river bank, watching their black shapes fade into the west.

Taran, after a moment, joined him. The boy was ashen. Still wet from his ducking in the river, scraped up from his fall from Melyngar, he cut a truly pathetic figure. Gwydion sighed. "I had hoped this would not happen," he told his young companion. "Thus far, I have been able to avoid them."

Taran only watched him, shame-faced and trembling. Gwydion looked at him. "Sooner or later they would have found us. They are Arawn's spies and messengers, the Eyes of Annuvin, they are called. No one stays long hidden from them. We are lucky they were only scouting and not on a blood hunt. Now they fly to their iron cages in Annuvin. Arawn himself will have news of us before this day ends. He will not be idle."

"If only they hadn't seen us," Taran said at last, quietly.

"There is no use regretting what has happened," Gwydion told him, turning away and picking up what he thought must be Hen Wen's trail again. "One way or another, Arawn would have learned of us. I have no doubt he knew the moment I rode from Caer Dathyl. The gwythaints are not his only servants."

"I think they must be the worst," Taran said in a low voice, looking back over his shoulder as he walked a little faster.

Gwydion looked back at Taran. He felt a little sorry for the boy, but if they were to continue on this road together, they might encounter much worse, before the end. So Gwydion told him of the worse servants of Annuvin. As he spoke of the Cauldron-Born, he saw the color leave Taran's face, and the boy shuddered as he described the deathless warriors, called again to unnatural life and forever in bondage and torment. But Taran tightened his lips and held his head high.

Finally, Gwydion found trace of Hen Wen once more. He and his young companion followed her tracks over a long-empty field, and into a shallow ravine. He frowned.

"Here they stop," he told the Assistant Pig-Keeper, meaning the tracks. "Even on stony ground there should be some trace, but I can see nothing." He went over the ground in the ravine again and again, searching for any sign of the oracular pig, but found nothing, and the sun was setting again. Gwydion was forced to stop. He led Taran and Melyngar to a nearby thicket, seeking the cover the trees provided them from their enemies. Taran sank down beneath a tree and buried his head in his hands.

"She has disappeared too completely," Gwydion said, getting provisions for himself and for his young companion from the saddlebags. "Many things could have happened. Time is too short to ponder each one."

Taran looked up at him hopelessly. "What can we do, then?" he pleaded. "Is there no way to find her?"

Gwydion looked at Taran. The concern in the boy's voice for his charge was genuine, and it touched the Prince of Don's heart. "The surest search is not always the shortest," he told Taran after a moment. "We may need the help of other hands before it is done. There is an ancient dweller in the foothills of Eagle Mountains. His name is Medwyn, and it is said he understands the hearts and ways of every creature in Prydain. He, if anyone, should know where Hen Wen may be hiding."

"If we could find him," Taran said.

"You are right in saying 'if'," Gwydion agreed. "I have never seen him. Others have sought him and failed. We should have only faint hope. But that is better than none at all."

A wind arose, and carried with it the baying of unearthly hounds. Gwydion sprang upright and clutched his sword. Not yet!

"Is it the Horned King?" demanded Taran. "Has he followed us this closely?"

Gwydion shook his head. "No hounds bell like those, save the pack of Gwyn the Hunter. And so Gwyn, too, rides abroad."

"Another of Arawn's servants?"

Gwydion frowned. "Gwyn owes allegiance to a lord unknown even to me, and one perhaps greater than Arawn. Gwyn the Hunter rides alone with his dogs, and where he rides, slaughter follows. He has foreknowledge of death and battle, and watches from afar, marking the fall of warriors."

No sooner had the words left Gwydion's mouth than the horn of Gwyn arose, clear and piercing and lonely. The hairs upon Gwydion's neck stood upon end. Taran froze, and his eyes went wide.

Gwydion placed a hand on the lad's forehead. It had gone cold and sweaty. "Gwyn's music is a warning," he said in a low voice. "Take it as a warning, for whatever profit that knowledge may be. But do not listen overmuch to the echoes. Others have done so, and have wandered hopeless ever since."

Taran nodded, and began to breathe again. "Try to sleep, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion told him. "I shall keep watch for us both."

The boy fell asleep easier this time. Gwydion supposed he was wearier. He smiled in the darkness at the lad. The Assistant Pig-Keeper had nearly died three times today alone, but nevertheless, he had kept the pace. And he had not complained of it. Not even once. The boy was proud. He was stubborn, ignorant of the ways of the world, and entirely too eager to rush into harm's way. But he was brave. And he had a true, affectionate heart. This much had Gwydion seen

Gwydion shook his head. The Horned King and gwythaints. Taran of Caer Dallben had seen much in the two days since he'd left Dallben's care in search of Hen Wen. He only hoped that it would not get much worse. He did not wish to see the bright-eyed, eager, foolish boy come to harm, no matter how much of a hindrance he was. But he feared more danger would come upon the two of them, ere they found Hen Wen. If they found her at all.

Gwydion was roused from his musings when Melyngar whinnied. She stomped her foot uneasily. Years campaigning had taught Gwydion to trust the instincts of his mare, for she was wiser and heard and smelt much he did not. He got up from where he sat to go see to her.

Just then, there was a cry from behind him. Gwydion whirled, just in time to see the Assistant Pig-Keeper dive head first into a thorn bush. There was a grunt, and the sound of an impact, and then Taran rolled out of the bushes with something.

The struggle stopped, and Taran sat up in disgust. "Gurgi!" he cried. "You sneaking…" furious, he began shaking the poor creature.

Gurgi began to howl. Gwydion strode over and gripped Taran's shoulder. "Enough, enough! Do not frighten the wits out of the poor thing!"

Taran pulled away angrily. "Save your own life next time! I should have known a great war leader needs no help from an Assistant Pig-Keeper!"

His hand went to the painful scratches on his arms. "Unlike Assistant Pig-Keepers," Gwydion told him, "I scorn the help of no man. And you should know better than to jump into thorn bushes without first making sure what you will find. Save your anger for a better purpose…" he paused and regarded the boy's white face and flashing eyes. He was angry, but it looked more like the anger that comes when one has had a bad fright over something that came to nothing than anything else. Gwydion looked over at the wailing Gurgi. Admittedly, he had not seen the creature lurking. He looked at Taran again. "Why, I believe you did think my life was in danger," he said with some surprise.

"If I had known it was only that stupid, silly Gurgi…" the Assistant Pig-Keeper grumbled.

"The fact is, you did not. So I shall take the intention for the deed. You may be many other things, Taran of Caer Dallben, but I see you are no coward. I offer you my thanks," he said, bowing. The boy's face softened a little, and he turned his glare upon Gurgi.

"And what of poor Gurgi?" the thing was howling. "No thanks for him—oh, no—only smackings by great lords! Not even a small munching for helping find a piggy!"

"We didn't find any piggy," Taran snapped at him. "And if you ask me, you know too much about the Horned King. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd gone and told him…"

Gurgi cut the boy off, groveling pitifully. "No, no! The lord of the great horns pursues wise, miserable Gurgi with leaping and galloping. Gurgi fears terrible smackings and whackings. He follows kindly and mighty protectors. Faithful Gurgi will not leave them, never!"

Gwydion bit back a groan. He was acquiring quite the band to feed. Still, there might perhaps be information to be gotten here. "And what of the Horned King?" he demanded.

"Oh, very angry. Wicked lords ride with mumblings and grumblings because they cannot find a piggy," Gurgi told them.

"Where are they now?"

"Not far. They cross water, but only clever, unthanked Gurgi knows where. And they light fires with fearsome blazings."

"Can you lead us to them?" Gwydion asked the little creature. "I would learn their plans."

Gurgi looked hungrily at the saddlebags. "Crunchings and munchings?"

Taran rolled his eyes in the darkness. "I knew he would get around to that," he remarked.

Gwydion ignored both his odd companions and saddled Melyngar. Taran came forward, and Gwydion pulled him up after him. Gurgi led them across the hills to a wide plain alight with fires. Keeping to the shadows, and ignoring Gurgi's pleas for crunchings and munchings, Gwydion rode down the slope with Taran. He found a little copse to crouch behind, and watched the dancing figures in the field moving about to the drumbeat.

Taran looked with wide eyes at the Proud Walkers on their high stilts dancing their battle dance.

"What are those men?" he whispered to Gwydion. "And the wicker baskets hanging from the posts?"

Gwydion gripped Taran's shoulder reassuringly. "They are the Proud Walkers," he said, "in a dance of battle, an ancient rite of war from the days when men were no more than savages. The baskets—another ancient custom best forgotten." He did not wish to explain them to his young companion. His eyes darted across the field and caught sight of the crimson-dyed figure in the skull mask.

"But look there!" he said in a piercing whisper. "The Horned King! And there I see the banners of the Cantrev Rheged! The banners of Dau Gleddyn and of Mawr! All the cantrevs of the south! Yes, now I understand!" There were hundreds of them rallied there in columns, preparing for battle.

The Horned King strode forward in the plain below, then, bearing a torch. Gwydion clutched Taran's shoulder tighter, but he was unable to give the order to withdraw before the deathly war leader thrust his torch among the wicker baskets. And even as far away from the encampment as they were, it was not far enough for Gwydion to keep the young Assistant Pig-Keeper from hearing the anguished screams of the trapped men within, burning alive.

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**A/N: So keeping in mind reviews I've gotten, I did go back through this chapter and cut out about four pages of unnecessary novel dialog. I figure the people reading this story already know about Arawn and Achren and the Cauldron-Born. Gwydion's lectures are mostly exposition for the readers of the book, though they also serve to illustrate his superior experience and set him up as a mentor/role model for Taran. **

**I couldn't eliminate the larger part of the dialog, however, because Taran's responses to Gwydion's lessons are necessary in illuminating his character to Gwydion. I hope there is sufficient original thought/writing in this chapter to keep it mildly interesting. This is probably my least favorite chapter in the entire story. **

**Because of this, I am uploading an extra chapter today. Merry Christmas! **

**LMSharp **


	4. The Separation

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue me.**

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The Separation

GWYDION

Gwydion rode northward from the place where the Horned King was camped until daybreak. Taran rode behind him, and Gurgi loped beside. Both were silent, terrified by what they had seen. Gwydion regretted what the boy and the simple creature had seen, but his mind was busy with plans. Though Hen Wen was not yet found, she was no longer the most important thing. They dismounted at last and stopped in an empty field.

"This is part of what I have journeyed so far to learn," Gwydion said to his strange companions finally. "Arawn now dares to try force of arms, with the Horned King as his war leader. The Horned King has raised a mighty host, and they will march against us. The Sons of Don are ill prepared for so powerful an enemy. They must be warned. I must return to Caer Dathyl immediately." He turned to Taran, intending to work out with the boy what he must do, but before he had a chance, a movement caught his eye from the nearby woodland.

Five mounted men rode at them. Taran tensed. Gurgi ran away, howling. Gwydion stood back to back with Taran as the first rider, galloping, drew near. He withdrew the spell from his jacket and hurled it at them, calling for it to burn. The flaming net the grass had become wrapped itself around the warrior and dragged him from the saddle.

Gwydion took immediate advantage of the small distraction. Moving quickly, he drew the dazed Taran to a tree, where he could better defend them. He drew his knife and put it in Taran's unresisting hand. "This is the only weapon I can spare," he shouted at the boy. "Use it as well as you can."

The four remaining warriors were upon them, and Gwydion drew his sword, trying to keep the warriors away from Taran. He forced one back, but another got through. His horse reared, and his blade swung down towards the Assistant Pig-Keeper's face. Taran struck with Gwydion's knife, slashing the warrior's leg open. He cried out, and wheeled his horse away from the fray.

A whinny sounded out, and Melyngar had found them. She fought for her master as she always did. Her four hooves, sharp teeth, and mighty flanks were weapons better than a sword. Her fighting terrified the enemy steeds, and the three remaining warriors struggled to remain mounted. One tried to escape Melyngar, but his mount would not obey him. Melyngar struck him from the saddle and trampled him underfoot.

One of the wounded was back at them again, for there were still three of the enemy. They mastered their mounts and forced past Melyngar. Gwydion swung his sword in an arc. One warrior fell, beheaded, never to move again. "Hold your ground but a little while," he called to Taran.

The last two warriors drew back a moment and Gwydion looked over the field. Despair filled his heart. Two more horsemen were riding across the field, and these were not mortal as the ones he and the Assistant Pig-Keeper had been holding off. Their faces had the pallor of death, and their eyes were expressionless pits. Gwydion brought his sword back up to the defense position, but cried to Taran.

"Fly! These are the Cauldron-Born! Take Melyngar and ride from here!"

Taran only looked at him. He corrected his stance and raised the hunting knife again. His mouth was a hard, grim line that looked odd on the face of the youth, but Gwydion did not have time to wonder at it, for the Cauldron-Born were upon them.

It was useless fighting the deathless warriors, but still Gwydion fought. He stabbed one through the heart, but no blood flowed, and the warrior did not shout in pain. There was only silence: horrible, grim, deathly silence. Taran of Caer Dallben was striking out manfully with the little hunting knife. He held his ground and kept his place beside Gwydion, but he was untrained. He cried out as a sword slashed his arm and sent the hunting knife spinning into the undergrowth.

Gwydion looked at him, and missed the blow of a sword across his face. It slashed him across the forehead, and he grunted and kept fighting. Taran had moved behind him now, refusing to run. Gwydion wildly wished the boy would be less noble and have more of a care for his life. Did not he realise that if the Cauldron-Born slew or captured them both, there would be no one to alert Caer Dathyl to the imminent danger? Blood streamed into Gwydion's eyes, and for a moment, he lost sight of the foe. A Cauldron-Born thrust at his heart, and Gwydion was only just able to turn and take the point in his side instead. White hot agony shot through him, and he struggled to raise his blade again. He lunged at the warriors, but fell to one knee, panting. The Cauldron-Born, seeing he was beaten, ceased the attack, seized him and bound him up.

In the corner of his eye, Gwydion saw the two mortal warriors do the same to Taran. He was barely sensible of being thrown across Melyngar's back, and felt Taran land heavily next to him.

He struggled to speak. "Are you badly hurt?"

"No," Taran said, "But your own wound is grave."

"It is not the wound that pains me," Gwydion said, managing by some feat to keep his voice steady as he lied. "I have taken worse and lived." That much, at least was true. He managed to turn his head and look into the Assistant Pig-Keeper's concerned grey eyes. "Why did you not flee, as I ordered? I knew I was powerless against the Cauldron-Born, but I could have held the ground for you. Yet, you fought well enough, Taran of Caer Dallben."

Taran ignored the compliment. His brow furrowed. "You are more than a war leader," he accused. "Why do you keep the truth from me? I remember the net of grass you wove before we crossed Avren. But in your hands today it was no grass I have ever seen."

"I am what I told you," Gwydion murmured. "The wisp of grass—yes, it is a little more than that. Dallben himself taught me the use of it."

"You, too, are an enchanter!"

Gwydion tried to smile. "I have certain skills. Alas, they are not great enough to defend myself against the powers of Arawn. Today they were not enough to protect a brave companion."

A Cauldron-Born warrior rode up alongside Melyngar. He produced a whip and cracked it over Taran and Gwydion's backs.

Taran winced, but he made no outcry. Gwydion looked at him with sympathy. "Say no more," he whispered. "You will only bring yourself pain. If we should not meet again, farewell."

For hours they were marched, without food, water, or any comfort. Once Taran tried to speak again, but received only a cut with the whip for his pains. Gwydion's head grew light as his wound bled freely, unbound and untreated, but he still realised it when they forded the River Ystrad, and he determined that they were being brought to Achren Queen of Spiral Castle. He did not understand why or how. Achren had long been cast out of Annuvin, and the Cauldron-Born answered only to Annuvin's lord. But she was still a formidable foe, he knew. Gwydion supposed it did not matter. He fell into despair as Melyngar's hooves clacked on the first flagstones of the courtyard of Spiral Castle. He looked at Taran. The boy was young, good, and brave. 'Twas a pity that he should have been caught up in this search for oracular pigs, in this struggle against the evil powers of Prydain. He should be far away, planting the vegetable garden at Caer Dallben with Coll Son of Collfrewr, not tied up being brought prisoner to Queen Achren. Foolish he was, Gwydion thought, but a worthy companion nonetheless. In a few years' time, perhaps, Taran might have even grown into something of a man. Now that future was lost, however. Taran of Caer Dallben, and whatever future he might have had, would likely perish in Queen Achren's dungeons. If she did not kill him outright as common pestilence.

They were dragged from Melyngar and the horse was led neighing shrilly away. Gwydion's side pierced him with agony as he was half-dragged into Spiral Castle. They were taken to the council chamber. It was windowless and damp, and rich crimson hangings gave the room an eerie atmosphere.

Achren sat enthroned at the far end of the chamber. She was as lovely, and as cold, as Gwydion remembered, robed in crimson, and bedecked in gems. Gwydion saw his sword at her feet. As she caught sight of them, for a moment, she gave a cold smile. Then she arose, and was all concern.

"What shame to my household is this?" she cried aloud. "The wounds of these men are fresh and untended. Someone shall answer for this neglect!" She strode the length of the hall and stopped in front of Taran. Gwydion knew she intended to press the ignorant boy for information. She clucked sympathetically at him. "This lad can barely keep his feet." She clapped her hands. "Bring food and wine and medicine for their injuries," she ordered the soldiers at the door.

She smiled at Taran. "Poor boy, there has been grievous mischief done today." She touched the Assistant Pig-Keeper's arm and Gwydion in alarm saw the boy's face relax. Achren was enchanting him! "How do you come here?" she asked Taran in a low, friendly voice.

"We crossed Great Avren. You see, what had happened…"

Gwydion could not let him continue. "Silence!" he cried. "She is Achren! She sets a trap for you!"

Taran started, and peered more closely at the queen of Spiral Castle. He stood straight then, and would not speak further. Brave, brave lad!

Achren turned to Gwydion. For an instant her eyes flashed with anger, but then she looked hurt. "This is not courtesy to accuse me thus. Your wound excuses your conduct, but there is no need for anger. Who are you? Why do you…"

Gwydion would have none of her dissembling. "You know me as well as I know you, Achren!"

"I have heard Lord Gwydion was traveling in my realm," she allowed finally, "Beyond that…"

"Arawn sent his warriors to slay us," Gwydion interrupted her, "And here they stand in your council hall. Do you say that you know nothing more?"

"Arawn sent warriors to find, not slay you," answered Achren quickly. "Or you would not be alive at this moment. Now that I see you face to face I am glad such a man is not bleeding out his life in a ditch." She crossed over to Gwydion, moving like some deadly feline, her eyes ever on his face. "For there is much we have to discuss, and much that you can profit from."

Gwydion squared his shoulders. "If you would treat with me unbind me and return my sword," he said.

Achren's eyes flashed. "You make demands?" she asked, very quietly. "Perhaps you do not understand. I offer you something you cannot have even if I loosened your hands and gave back your weapon. By that, Lord Gwydion, I mean—your life."

Gwydion glared at her. "In exchange for what?"

Achren glanced over at Taran. "I had thought to bargain with another life," she said scornfully, "But I see he is of no consequence, alive or dead. No, there are other, pleasanter ways to bargain. You do not know me as well as you think, Gwydion. There is no future for you beyond these gates. Here, I can promise…"

"Your promises reek of Annuvin!" Gwydion interrupted. "I scorn them. It is no secret what you are!"

Achren went white with fury. She slapped Gwydion across the face with the back of her hand and swiftly unsheathed his sword. She leveled it at his throat. Gwydion did not flinch.

For a moment her face worked, and then she shook her head. "No! I will not slay you; you shall come to wish I had, and beg the mercy of a sword! You scorn my promises! This promise will be well kept!"

Achren dashed the sword against a pillar. Sparks flew out, and a sound rang out like a bell, but the blade did not shatter. Turning crimson with rage, Achren threw the sword to the ground. Still Gwydion's sword held firm. Gwydion looked on in grim satisfaction. Achren snatched up the sword again, eyes flashing. She gripped the blade until her hands bled and her eyes rolled back into her head. She shouted out a strange sorcerous phrase, and a thunderclap boomed in the room. Taran cried out in dismay as a red light blinded the pair of them. When the light cleared, Gwydion's sword lay in pieces on the ground. "So shall I break you!" Achren screamed at him. She raised her bleeding hand to the Cauldron-Born still standing impassively at the door and gave them a command in the harsh language of Annuvin.

One of the warriors seized Gwydion, and the other seized Taran. Taran cried out, kicking and fighting to get free of his bonds. Gwydion did not fight as the Cauldron-Born dragged him from the Hall after Queen Achren, but he turned his head and watched as Taran of Caer Dallben was taken away to the dungeon, and the Cauldron-Born bore him to some other, worse place.


	5. The Bard and the Boy

**Disclaimer: To try to preserve structural unity, hopeless task though it may be with all you Alexander scholars about, I have refrained from bolding or italicizing Lloyd Alexander's dialogue. But I have no intention of claiming it as my own, and since you _are_ Alexander scholars, I will simply say that if you recognize it, it's his. If you don't, it's mine. But I offer my dialogue on a strictly volunteer basis.**

* * *

The Bard and the Boy

EILONWY

Achren had two prisoners today. Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat, Princess of Llyr, knew she shouldn't really be so excited. It was like cheering while someone else was set upon by hornets. But she wondered if perhaps she might find someone halfway agreeable to talk to today. Achren was of course out of the question. The only time she was anything less than absolutely horrid was when she was teaching Eilonwy some enchantment or other, and even then they were the nastiest, dullest enchantments imaginable. Those Cauldron-Born that hung about nowadays were even worse! They had nothing to say at all! They just lurched about, looking at one with those terrible, great glassy eyes. If deathless warriors could be said to look at anyone at all. Having them around was like constantly having spiders run up and down one's back, and Eilonwy knew, because Spiral Castle was full of the creepy little things.

Eilonwy had never asked her relations to send her to Spiral Castle and Queen Achren. Indeed, if she ever saw them again she'd have a thing or two to say. Of course, a few years ago she hadn't known any better, being too small and much sillier, but now that she had spent considerable time in the library reading she realised that Spiral Castle was a really awful place, and Achren was really quite wicked. She wondered why she had never liked her benefactress as she ought, but it was becoming more and more clear to her that Achren was horrible and evil. In fact, she had tried to run away last month, but those guards had found her and dragged her back. Achren had beaten her. Eilonwy had been very put out.

She was still trying to come up with another plan of escape, but hadn't quite managed it. Maybe she could sneak into the armory and masquerade as a warrior and go out with a patrol? In any event, Eilonwy hoped that in the meantime the prisoners might have something interesting to say about life outside Spiral Castle. It was so dull and wretched when Achren wasn't giving her lessons, like waiting for a dead dog to roll over.

Anyway, the guards had just done their rounds of the dungeon block, and Eilonwy was peering down through the grating at one of the new prisoners. It was so shadowy in the cell she couldn't quite make out what he looked like, so she put her hand in her robe to get out her bauble. But she fumbled, and the golden sphere rolled out of her grasp and fell through the grating into the cell.

The prisoner started, and looked at Eilonwy's bauble. He looked up at her. At least, Eilonwy assumed from the shape of his shaggy-headed shadow that that was what he was doing.

"Please," she said. "My name is Eilonwy and if you don't mind, would you throw my bauble to me? I don't want you to think I'm a baby, playing with a silly bauble, because I'm not; but sometimes there's absolutely nothing else to do around here and it slipped out of my hands when I was tossing it…" She did not want him to think that she had been spying.

The prisoner interrupted her. "Little girl," he said in a boy's voice. "I don't…"

"But I am not a little girl," Eilonwy reminded him. "Haven't I just been and finished telling you? Are you slow-witted? I'm so sorry for you. It's terrible to be dull and stupid. What's your name?" she asked him. She was interested in this prisoner. He sounded like he mightn't be too much older than herself, and she had never met a boy before. "It makes me feel funny not knowing someone's name. Wrong-footed, you know, or as if I had three thumbs on one hand, if you see what I mean. It's clumsy…"

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben," the boy said boldly.

Eilonwy smiled. "That's lovely," she cried, delighted. "I'm very glad to meet you. I suppose you're a lord, or a warrior, or a war leader, or a bard, or a monster. Though we haven't had any monsters for a long time."

"I am none of those," Taran answered.

Eilonwy frowned and was silent a moment. "What else is there?" she asked. She hadn't read about anything else, at least. Well, about well-meaning farm boys. She supposed Taran might be one of them. Was Caer Dallben a farm?

"I am an Assistant Pig-Keeper," he told her.

Eilonwy clapped her hands happily. "How fascinating. You're the first we've ever had—unless that poor fellow in the other dungeon is one, too."

"Tell me of him," the boy said eagerly. "Is he alive?"

"I don't know," Eilonwy told him. "I peeked through the grating, but I couldn't tell. He doesn't move at all, but I should imagine he is alive; otherwise Achren would have fed him to the ravens. Now, please, if you don't mind, it's right at your feet."

From the movement of the shadows, Eilonwy guessed the Assistant Pig-Keeper had shaken his head. "I can't pick up your bauble because my hands are tied."

Eilonwy was surprised, and a little angry. Was Taran of Caer Dallben very dangerous? He seemed very nice. What cause had Achren to tie his hands? It was really too bad of her, like pulling the wings off some insect that hadn't ever done one any harm. "Oh? Well, that would account for it. Then I suppose I shall have to come in and get it."

"You can't come in and get it," Taran of Caer Dallben sighed. "Don't you see I'm locked up here?"

Eilonwy shook her head in pity. "Of course I do. What would be the point of having someone in a dungeon if they weren't locked up? Really, Taran of Caer Dallben, you surprise me with some of your remarks. I don't mean to hurt your feelings by asking, but is Assistant Pig-Keeper the kind of work that calls for a great deal of intelligence?"

Taran started to reply, but Eilonwy didn't catch his answer. A bony hand seized her by the shoulder. Eilonwy shrieked in surprise.

"What are you doing, you foolish girl?" Achren demanded. "I have told you time and again, daughter of Llyr, stay away from the prisoners!" She caught Eilonwy around the waist and brought her hand down on Eilonwy's rear end. It landed with a painful smack. Eilonwy turned her head furiously and bit Achren's bony shoulder. Achren shrieked and slapped Eilonwy's face. She called for the guard.

"You'll cool your temper in the passages beneath the castle, girl!" she cried. "You will regret your insolence!"

A blank-eyed Cauldron-Born seized Eilonwy before she could escape. She writhed and twisted, but it was no good. Before she knew it, Eilonwy had been thrown and locked into one of the underground chambers beneath Spiral Castle. Again.

Eilonwy sighed. She blew a wisp of hair out of her face. Achren would keep throwing her down here every time Eilonwy offended her Royal Majesty. You'd think that after seeing Eilonwy turn up time and again without being released she would learn. Eilonwy supposed she was like an itch Achren couldn't scratch. No matter. Being thrown down here in the dark was a nuisance, especially without her bauble, but it was no more than that. In no time at all Eilonwy had located the hidden passage in the left wall of her chamber and escaped into the tunnels beneath Spiral Castle.

She had to be careful, especially in the dark. Many of the passages were unstable. She had to move like a slender-legged insect walking on the top of the well-water, and it was much more difficult in the dark. Eilonwy stretched out her arms on either side of her, counting passages, and brought each foot down gingerly, testing her weight before she moved. It took hours, but eventually she found her way to the low gallery that ran beneath the dungeons. When she judged she was beneath that Assistant Pig-Keeper's cell, she pressed up on the trap-door.

The door didn't budge. Eilonwy supposed Taran must be sitting on it. "Move away!" she shouted. There was a scraping above her head, and Eilonwy tried the door again. It still didn't move. "Get off the stone!" she cried. There was yet another scraping noise. For a third time, Eilonwy pushed up. "Well, I can't lift it with you standing on it, you silly Assistant Pig-Keeper!"

There was a louder scraping this time, and Eilonwy judged that Taran of Caer Dallben had finally moved off the trapdoor. She pushed it up, caught the edge of the hole, and swung herself up into the Assistant Pig-Keeper's cell.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Eilonwy snorted. "Who did you expect?" she whispered. "And please don't make such a racket. I told you I was coming back. Oh, there's my bauble…" she picked it up from where it lay on the floor.

"Where are you?" Taran said urgently. He was clearly frightened out of his wits. Nevertheless, Eilonwy was pleased to note that he had lowered his voice. "I can see nothing…"

"Is that's what's bothering you?" Eilonwy said, smiling. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" She lit up her bauble and light flooded the little cell.

"What's that?" Taran demanded. He shook.

"It's my bauble. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"But—but it lights up!" he cried stupidly.

"What did you think it would do? Turn into a bird and fly away?"

Taran stared at her, and for the first time Eilonwy was able to get a good look at her mysterious Assistant Pig-Keeper. She smiled brightly, liking the look of him. She had been right. He was no more than a year and a half older than her, she thought, and just her height, too. His black hair was shaggy and ill-cut, and his face was dirty, but Eilonwy supposed he might still be considered handsome. He had arching black eyebrows, deep-set grey eyes with long eyelashes, a wide mouth and a well-structured face. His arms and legs were too long for his body, like he was still growing into himself. Well, Eilonwy thought, at that age, he would be. His expression was open and honest, and right now, a little afraid.

He regarded her with those wide grey eyes, and Eilonwy nodded once. She put her bauble on the floor and strode around behind him and untied his hands.

"I meant to come back sooner," she explained. "But Achren caught me talking to you. She started to give me a whipping. I bit her." She told the Assistant Pig-Keeper what had befallen her and how she had found him. "It took me longer in the dark, though, because I didn't have my bauble."

Taran's eyes widened again. "You mean you live in this terrible place?" he asked.

Eilonwy huffed. "Naturally. You don't imagine I'd want to visit here, do you?"

Taran of Caer Dallben took a step back. "Is—is Achren your mother?"

Eilonwy was offended. "Certainly not! I am Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat, daughter of—oh, it's such a bother going through all that. My ancestors are the Sea People. I am of the blood of Llyr Half-Speech, the Sea King. Achren is my aunt…" she trailed off and frowned. "Though sometimes I don't think she's really my aunt at all," she told him confidingly.

"Then what are you doing here?" the Assistant Pig-Keeper asked.

"I said I live here," Eilonwy said with some impatience. "It must take a lot of explaining before you understand anything. My parents died and my kinsmen sent me here so Achren could teach me to be an enchantress. It's a family tradition, don't you see? The boys are war leaders, and the girls are enchantresses."

Taran frowned. "Achren is leagued with Arawn of Annuvin," he informed her. "She is an evil, loathsome creature!"

"Oh, everybody knows that," sighed Eilonwy. "Sometimes I wish my kinsmen had sent me to someone else. But I think they must have forgotten about me by now." She really must escape, she thought. She scanned the room, and then noticed a deep slash on Taran of Caer Dallben's arm. She frowned. "Where did you get that? I don't think you know much about fighting if you let yourself get knocked about and cut up so badly. But I don't imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are often called on to do that sort of thing." She bent and tore a strip from the hem of her robe and began to bind it. Gods knew he couldn't go around like that all day. It would be like hopping on one foot, in figure-eights!

"I didn't let myself be cut up!" Taran protested. "That's Arawn's doing, or your aunt's—I don't know which and I don't care. One is no better than the other."

Eilonwy stamped her foot and finished tying off the bandage. "I hate Achren!" she cried passionately. "She is a mean, spiteful person. Of all the people who come here, you're the only one who's the least bit agreeable to talk to—and she's had you damaged!"

"That's not the end of it," Taran said. "She means to kill my friend."

Eilonwy frowned, suddenly worried for her new imprisoned acquaintance. "If she does that, I'm sure she'll include you," she told him. "Achren doesn't do things by halves. It would be a shame if you were killed. I should be very sorry. I know I wouldn't like it to happen to me…"

Taran shook his head impatiently and grabbed her wrist eagerly. "Eilonwy, listen. If there are tunnels and passages under the castle—can you get to the other cells? Is there a way outside?"

"Of course there is," Eilonwy laughed. "If there's a way in, there has to be a way out, doesn't there?"

"Will you help us?" Taran asked. "It is important for us to be free of this place. Will you show us the passage?"

Eilonwy paused. Her heart began to race. A wild idea occurred to her. She wondered that she had never thought of it before. If she ran away alone, Achren was sure to find her and drag her back every time. But if she had help…"Let you escape?" she said carefully, as if she were unsure. "Wouldn't Achren be furious at that?" She would at that, Eilonwy thought, with vindictive satisfaction. "It would serve her right for whipping me and trying to lock me up. Yes, yes, that's a wonderful idea. I would love to see her face when she comes down to find you. Yes, that would be more fun than anything I could think of. Can you imagine…"

Taran pressed her wrist. "Listen carefully. Is there a way you can take me to my companion?"

Eilonwy shook her head. "That would be very hard to do. You see, some of the galleries connect with the ones leading to the cells, but when you try to go across, what happens is that you start to run into passages that…"

"Never mind, then," the Assistant Pig-Keeper said. "Can I join him in one of the passageways?"

"I don't see why you want to do that," Eilonwy said. "It would be so much simpler if I just go and let him out and have him wait for you beyond the castle. I don't understand why you want to complicate things; it's bad enough for two people crawling about, but with three, you can imagine what that would be. And you can't possibly find your way by yourself."

Taran nodded and released her. "Very well. Free my companion first. I only hope he is well enough to move. If he isn't, then you must come and tell me right away and I'll think of some means of carrying him. And there is a white horse, Melyngar. I don't know what's been done with her."

"She would be in the stable," volunteered Eilonwy cheerfully. "Isn't that where you'd usually find a horse?"

"Please, you must get her, too. And weapons for us. Will you do that?"

Horses and weapons and rescues from dungeons, Eilonwy thought. It was just like the books in the library! "Yes, that should be very exciting." She laughed, anticipating Achren's impending dismay and fury. It ought to be better than watching old Lucy chase her tail! She grabbed her bauble, darted back into the passage beneath the Assistant Pig-Keeper's cell and pulled the door shut behind her.

With the bauble, things went much more quickly. Eilonwy went to the stable first, looking for a white horse. She found the pretty mare easily enough. She was still saddled and bridled, and blood stained her shining coat around the saddle. Taran's, Eilonwy thought angrily. Or his companion's. Ooh, she'd just get Achren! She walked up to the horse, holding her hand out cautiously.

"Hello, you pretty, pretty thing," she murmured. "Taran of Caer Dallben sent me to find you. You know, the Assistant Pig-Keeper. We're leaving this dreadful place, all of us, though I don't suppose he knows I'm coming yet. What fun it all shall be! Will you come, Melyngar?"

The horse nickered at the sound of her name, and willingly enough left her stable. Eilonwy took her lead and led her quietly out the courtyard. She waited until the guards had passed by on their rounds, and then swiftly led Melyngar out the very gates. She led the mare around the side of Spiral Castle, where she assumed a passage led out from underground. Eilonwy walked Melyngar a little ways into the wood on that side of the castle, and then tied her reins to a low tree branch. "Wait here, Melyngar," she said. "I'll be back soon."

She patted the horse's velvety nose. She looked around in the rocks at the base of Spiral Castle, holding her bauble aloft in the night, and eventually she found a passage back inside. She followed the spiraling galleries in and around in the belly of the castle until she got to the other side of the passages running beneath the dungeon. She lifted the door into the Assistant Pig-Keeper's companion's cell. He had had the sense to sit someplace else.

Eilonwy shone her bauble around. A thin, long-nosed face beneath a bird's nest of yellow hair blinked at her. "Wha—who are you? Great Belin, what's that light?"

"My name is Eilonwy," said the same. "Your companion sent me to rescue you from here. Can you move? I've never seen you move, and that Assistant Pig-Keeper said you might not be able to."

"A Fflam is fit!" cried the strange, scarecrow of a man, springing to his feet. "But I must confess I have no idea to whom or to what you are referring, lass. Still, a rescue. You won't hear me complaining! Lead on!"

Eilonwy glanced up at the tall, thin man. His clothes had probably been fine once, but they were weather-stained and dirty now, and he had a beat-up harp with two broken strings slung over one shoulder. "You look like a bard," she said. "I thought your companion might be a bard, at first. Or a monster. But he wasn't. An Assistant Pig-Keeper, whatever that may be. I suppose he keeps pigs, but I've never heard of an assistant to a pig keeper before. Taran is the only one I have ever met. He's awful nice. I would have rescued him first. The entire plan was his idea, though in general he doesn't seem to be the most intelligent. But he did insist that I come fetch you before I led him out. Nice of him, don't you think?"

"Um…rather," the man said, sounding rather dazed. "I beg your pardon, lass, but where are we going?"

"Oh, just through here," Eilonwy said. "There's a passage out to the forest. Your horse is waiting there for you. She's a lovely animal—what's your name? It's awkward, see, not knowing. Like having three thumbs…"

"I am Fflewddur Fflam, Son of Godo," cried the man. "At your service. Queen Achren had me thrown in here three days ago. You know—Eilonwy, is it? I rather think she doesn't appreciate music."

Eilonwy led the man through the twisting passages. He kept close to her, smiling bravely, but she could see that he was frightened. "Achren doesn't like anything pleasant," Eilonwy told him. "I hate her. I can tell you I'm glad the Assistant Pig-Keeper suggested letting you both escape. I was glad to be able to get her back! She beats me! And she keeps locking me up."

"Do you live here, then?" her companion asked in surprise.

Eilonwy looked at him. "You know, Taran asked me the same thing. I should think it's rather obvious, actually. Would you come here to visit? I mean, now that you know what it's like."

Fflewddur paled. "Ah, yes. I take your point." He looked down at her. "But won't you get in terrible trouble for helping us, my dear? Whoever 'us' may be, that is. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful. Supremely. But…Great Belin it's stuffy in these rat holes! A Fflam is unwavering, but these dark passages…"

Eilonwy frowned, counting passages. Fflewddur was very nice, if a bit strange. But she couldn't imagine how he didn't seem to know anything about his own companion. She decided he must be stupider than Taran of Caer Dallben, even, but didn't say anything. It might not be very kind, and he was a good deal older than herself.

At last she led Fflewddur Fflam out into the growing twilight. "Melyngar is just through there, tied to a tree," she whispered. "I am going to go back for Taran. Wait here. I'll bring him to you."

"Right," Fflewddur said, frowning. "Wait for Taran. I'll do that." He sounded doubtful, questioning, but Eilonwy didn't wait to ask him why. She wanted to get to Taran before Achren determined the prisoners were vanishing.

A while later, she was back pushing up the trap door beneath Taran's cell. She frowned. "Must you always sit on the wrong stone?" she shouted up at him, irate. "You're too heavy to lift."

There was a scuttling noise, and then Taran was actually helping her to lift the door. He grabbed her hands and lifted her up into the cell. She grinned at him. "Your companion is free. And I took Melyngar from the stable. They are hidden in the woods outside the castle. It's all done now. They're waiting for you. So if you get a move on and stop looking as if you'd forgotten your own name, we can go and meet them."

Taran shook himself, as if amazed. Then he recovered. "Did you find weapons?" he asked.

Eilonwy was embarrassed. She'd forgotten. "Well, no," she admitted. "I didn't have a chance to look. Really, you can't expect me to do everything, can you?"

She gestured towards the hole in the floor. "Go first. Then I'll come down after, so I can put the stone back in place. Then, when Achren sends to have you killed, there won't be any trace at all. She'll think you disappeared into thin air—and that will make it all the more vexing. I know it isn't nice to vex people on purpose—it's like handing them a toad—but this is much too good to miss and I may never have another chance at it."

"Achren will know you let us escape," Taran said worriedly.

"No, she won't," Eilonwy said. "Because she'll think I'm still locked up. And if she doesn't know I can get out, she can't know I was here. But it's very thoughtful of you to say that. It shows a kind heart, and I think that's so much more important than being clever."

Taran nodded then and dropped into the passage below. Eilonwy followed him, shutting the stone door after her. She led Taran down the passage. "Be sure you follow me," she told him. "Don't go into any of those," she said, indicating branching galleries. "Some of them branch off and some of them don't go anywhere at all. You'd get lost, and that would be a useless thing to do if you're trying to escape."

Eilonwy went on quickly, happy to be doing something so subversive as facilitating an escape attempt. Oh, she did hope Taran and Fflewddur would be grateful enough at the end of it to take her along, and away from this dreadful place. In any event, she would help them anyway. They were nice, nicer than anyone she had ever met in her entire life, even if they were a bit dim-witted. She heard the Assistant Pig-Keeper stumbling along behind her, and she winced. She hoped he knew to be careful.

Just then the ceiling trembled above them, and some earth came showering down. Eilonwy dodged, and slowed. "We're just below the guard room," she whispered to Taran. "Something's happening up there. Achren doesn't usually turn out the guard in the middle of the night."

"They must have gone to the cells," Taran said nervously. "There was a lot of commotion just before you came. They surely know we're gone."

For the first time, Eilonwy was a little anxious. Perhaps Achren would think to check the chamber where she had locked Eilonwy. What if she found her gone? Eilonwy breathed out. Too late now. She laughed a little "You must be a very important Assistant Pig-Keeper. Achren wouldn't go to all that trouble unless…"

The Assistant Pig-Keeper's mouth thinned, and he cut her off. "Hurry. If she puts a guard around the castle we'll never get out."

Eilonwy looked over her shoulder at him and set off again. "I wish you'd stop worrying. You sound as if you were having your toes twisted. Achren can set out all the guards she wants. She doesn't know where the mouth of the tunnel is. And it's hidden so well an owl couldn't see it. After all, you don't think I'd march you out the front gate, do you?"

She wasn't as confident as she made him think, though, and she walked a little faster. She heard him bumbling along behind her, and all was well, until she heard a scree of falling rock and Taran's yell. She whirled, and followed the Assistant Pig-Keeper's voice to a hole in the floor of the passage that most definitely had not been there before. "Where are you?" she cried. She shone her bauble around and caught sight of him, several feet down. "Oh, I see. Part of the tunnel's given way. You must have slipped into a crevice."

"It's not a crevice," Taran hollered back. "I've fallen all the way down into something and it's deep. Can't you put the light into it? I've got to get up again."

Eilonwy looked around helplessly. "Yes, you have got yourself into a mess," she murmured. "The ground's all broken through here, and below there's a big stone, like a shelf over your head. How did you ever manage to do that?"

"I don't know how," Taran said irritably. "But I certainly didn't do it on purpose."

"It's strange," Eilonwy told him. "This wasn't here when I came through the first time. All that tramping must have jarred something loose; it's hard to say. I don't think these tunnels are half as solid as they look, and neither is the castle, for the matter of that; Achren's always complaining about things leaking and doors not closing right…"

"Do stop that prattling!" cried Taran. "I don't want to hear about leaks and doors. Show a light so I can climb out of here."

Eilonwy shook her head. "That's the trouble. I'm not quite sure you can. You see, that shelf of stone juts out so far and goes down so steeply. Can you manage to reach it?"

Taran tried, but he could not. "Go on without me," he moaned after a moment. "Warn my companion the castle is alerted…"

Eilonwy glared down at him. "And what do you intend doing? You can't just sit there like a fly in a jug. That isn't going to help matters at all."

"It doesn't make any difference about me," Taran said. "You can find a rope and come back when things are safe."

"Who knows when that will be?" Eilonwy demanded of him. "If Achren sees me, there's no telling what might happen. And suppose I couldn't get back? You'd turn into a skeleton while you're waiting—I don't know how long it takes for people to turn into skeletons, though I imagine it would need some time—and you'd be worse off than before."

"What else am I to do?" Taran shouted up at her.

Eilonwy clicked her tongue at him. "That's very noble of you, but I don't think it's really necessary, not yet, at any rate. If Achren's warriors come out and start beating the woods, I hardly think your friend would stay around waiting. He'd go and hide and find you later, or so I should imagine. That would be the sensible thing to do. Of course, if he's an Assistant Pig-Keeper, too, it's hard to guess how his mind would work."

"He's not an Assistant Pig-Keeper," Taran said quickly. "He's…well, it's none of your business what he is."

Eilonwy frowned. "That's not a very polite thing to say. Well, nevertheless, the main thing is to get you out."

"There's nothing we can do," Taran insisted. "I'm caught here, and locked up better than Achren ever planned."

"Don't say that," Eilonwy cried, rejecting the Assistant Pig-Keeper's despair. "I could tear up my robe and plait it into a cord," she said thoughtfully, "Though I'll tell you right away I wouldn't enjoy crawling around tunnels without any clothes on But I don't think it would be long enough or strong enough. I suppose I could cut of my hair, if I had a pair of shears, and add it in—no, that still wouldn't do. Won't you please be quiet for a while and let me think? Wait, I'm going to drop my bauble down to you. Here, catch!"

Taran caught the sphere Eilonwy tossed down deftly. "Now then," Eilonwy asked. "What's down there? Is it just a pit of some kind?"

Taran raised the bauble over his head. "Why, it's not a hole at all!" he cried in a much happier tone. "It's a kind of chamber. There's a tunnel here, too. I can't see where it ends. It's big…"

Eilonwy nodded decisively. Carefully, lest she collapse more of the tunnels, she lowered herself through the hole Taran had fallen into. She dropped to her feet beside him. The Assistant Pig-Keeper turned incredulous grey eyes upon her.

"You fool!" he cried in despair then. "You addlepated…what have you done? Now both of us are trapped! And you talk about sense! You haven't enough sense to fill a thimble! You scatterbrained, idiotic girl! We shall both die together now, and my companion will be lost…Eilonwy…" he stopped for breath.

Eilonwy folded her arms and arched an eyebrow at him. "Now. If you've quite finished, let me explain something very simple to you. If there's a tunnel, it has to go some place. And wherever it goes, there's a very good chance it will be better than where we are right now."

Taran paused, struck by this. After a moment, he nodded. "I didn't mean to call you names," he said softly. "But there was no reason for you to put yourself in danger."

Eilonwy was touched by his nobility, even if it was a trifle thick-headed. "There you go again," she said fondly. "I promised to help you escape and that's what I'm doing. I understand about tunnels and I shouldn't be surprised if this one followed the same direction as the one above. It doesn't have half as many galleries coming off it. And besides, it's a lot more comfortable." She reclaimed her bauble from him and stepped off into the new passage, very much pleased with her adventure.

The ceiling of the new tunnel was higher, and the walls were wider apart. Now Taran could walk beside her, instead of hopping along behind her like a lame toad. Eilonwy was fairly confident the tunnel led someplace interesting, but the silly Assistant Pig-Keeper would not stop worrying about his companion, and the fact that the tunnel kept sloping downward. He only grew more certain of his doubts when that first passage led to a dead end.

He rounded on her. "This is what I feared," he groaned. "We have gone to the end of your tunnel, that you know so much about, and this is what we find. Now we can only go back; we've lost all our time and we're no better off than when we started."

Eilonwy eyed the wall of boulders that blocked their path. "I can't understand why anyone would go to the trouble of building a tunnel and not have it go any place," she remarked to Taran. "It must have been a terrible amount of work for whoever it was to dig it all and set in the rocks. Why do you suppose…"

"I don't know!" Taran cried angrily. "And I wish you'd stop wondering about things that can't make any difference to us. I'm going back. I don't know how I'm going to climb onto that shelf, but I can certainly do it a lot more easily than digging through a wall."

"Well," Eilonwy conceded, "It is very strange and all. I'm sure I don't know where we are."

"I knew we'd end up being lost. I could have told you that."

"I didn't say I was lost. I only said I didn't know where I was. There's a big difference. When you're lost, you really don't know where you are. When you just don't happen to know where you are at the moment, that's something else. I know I'm underneath Spiral Castle, and that's quite good for a start."

Taran made a face. "You're splitting hairs," he accused her. "Lost is lost. You're worse than Dallben."

Eilonwy tilted her head and looked at him. "Who is Dallben?"

"Dallben is my—oh, never mind!" Taran broke off and turned back down the tunnel. Eilonwy followed him.

"We could have a look in one of the side passageways," she suggested.

Taran did indeed slow at the next gallery. He looked down into it. Eilonwy grinned and nudged him gently. "Go ahead, let's try this one. It seems as good as any."

"Hush!" Taran ordered her in a tone he had not yet used. Eilonwy fell silent. Taran had cocked his head, listening. "There's something…"

"Well, by all means let's find out what," Eilonwy said, losing patience. She nudged him again. "Go ahead, will you?"

Taran stepped forward. This passage sloped still further down. Eilonwy's Assistant Pig-Keeper had caught the knack of walking in tunnels now. He tested each step before putting his weight down entirely. The sound Taran had heard became louder and louder: a sort of wail like the voices of the damned. Eilonwy had read that phrase in a book once, 'the voices of the damned'. It gave her a wonderfully creepy feeling. A draft blew through the tunnel, and brought with it other sounds, creaks and the shriek of metal. Taran began to shake. He slowed, and moved a hand to indicate Eilonwy was to get behind him.

"Give me the light," he murmured. "And wait for me here."

"Do you think it's ghosts?" Eilonwy asked him. "I don't have any beans to spit at them, and that's about the only thing that will really do for a ghost. But you know I don't think it's ghosts at all. I've never heard one, though I suppose they could sound like that if they wanted to, but I don't see why they should bother. No, I think it's wind making all those noises."

"Wind? How could there be…" Taran caught her meaning then. He stilled. "Wait. You may be right, at that. There might be an opening." Instead of slowing, Taran sped up then. Eilonwy followed right after him.

Once again, the end of the passage was blocked up, but this time there was an opening large enough for the pair of them to slide through, and it was from here the air was coming. Eilonwy handed him the bauble, and he shone it around in the opening, but he shook his head. Carefully, mindful not to topple any of the perhaps unstable boulders, Taran slid through the opening to the chamber beyond. Eilonwy followed him, growing more and more excited. This was the most fun she'd ever had!

Taran flashed light around the large, low-ceilinged chamber. But he did not know how to use her bauble properly, and so could not make it light up enough to reveal more than shadows. Eilonwy sniffed, and drew close to the Assistant Pig-Keeper. He stepped forward.

Eilonwy had to refrain from clapping her hands in delight. They seemed to be in some kind of armory- they could get the weapons she had forgotten! Then Taran tripped over something and bent down to look. He jumped about a foot in the air, and Eilonwy gasped to see the corpse of a warrior lying not two feet from her. There were more of them, perhaps a dozen, in a ring around a high stone slab.

A barrow, then. How interesting, Eilonwy thought. She caught sight of an enormous mound of treasure, and stepped forward to look. "I'm sure Achren doesn't have any idea all this is here," she told Taran in a low voice. "She'd have hauled it out long ago; she loves jewelry, you know, though it doesn't become her one bit."

"Surely it is the barrow of the king who built this castle," The Assistant Pig-Keeper said in a respectful tone. He stepped up to the king on the slab, peering at the skeleton. He turned away, and towards the far wall.

"I think there is a passage," he told Eilonwy. "There, in the far wall."

Eilonwy didn't listen. Didn't he want weapons, after all? Why, here were dozens, and for certain these skeletons didn't need them. She surveyed the shields with their ancient devices, the graciously curved bows covered in dust, the swords all the warriors clutched. At the entrance to his tunnel, the Assistant Pig-Keeper grabbed a sword from the nearest warrior. Eilonwy looked around once more, and then, steeling herself, extricated the long sword from the bony death-grip of the king on the slab.

She followed Taran into the passage he had found. It was a nasty, narrow, uncomfortable one. Eilonwy was forced to crawl along on her belly, huffing and puffing and gazing at the bottoms of her Assistant Pig-Keeper's muddy boots. Behind her, there began a muttering, and the ground began to shake. Eilonwy felt a wave of raw magic wash over her, and knew some great enchantment had been triggered. She forced herself forward even faster, scraping her elbows against the sides of the tunnel. Then the shaking of the passage became violent, and it split wide open. There was a great crash, and Taran fell in front of her. Eilonwy pulled her head and shoulders out of the passage after him, but the scabbard of the sword she carried caught on a protruding tree root, and she got caught.

The castle continued to shake, and the walls of the passage began to press uncomfortably about Eilonwy. Above her she heard a crackling sound, and a cold wind blew whipped her hair about her face so that it stung her cheeks.

"Taran! Help!"

Taran turned to her. His eyes were wide and his face was white. Eilonwy wondered what Spiral Castle looked like from his point of view, and for a moment she was very frightened. "I'm all tangled up with the sword," she explained rapidly, as Taran tried to shift the collapsing rocks trapping her. "The scabbard's caught on something."

"What sword?" Taran demanded, hurling the final rock away. He grabbed Eilonwy under her arms and heaved. There was a brief, sharp pain, but then she and the sword came free.

"Oof! I feel as if I had all my bones taken apart and put together wrong. The sword? You said you needed weapons, didn't you? And you took one, so I thought I might as well, too."

She looked back at Spiral Castle and her mouth dropped open. It was ablaze with blue fire, and lightning flew from its turrets. The ground was shaking, and all at once, the castle could take no more stress. With a great explosion of cracking boulders and collapsing tunnels, Spiral Castle collapsed. The fire went out, the lightning stopped. And there was the castle in which Eilonwy had lived most of her life, fallen into ruins.

A silence fell, and Eilonwy shuddered. The place where she had been trapped not a moment ago was now buried under an entire castle of rubble. She would have been crushed had she stayed there one more moment. She turned to Taran of Caer Dallben and did him a shaky courtesy. "Thank you for saving my life," she said quietly. "For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, I must say you are quite courageous. It's wonderful when people surprise you that way."

She looked back at the ruins. After a moment she ventured, "I wonder what happened to Achren." She laughed, delighted. See if Achren could make her go back now and learn to be a sorceress! "She'll really be furious," she told Taran. "And probably blame everything on me, for she's always punishing me for things I haven't even thought of yet."

Taran whistled once. "If Achren is under those stones, she'll never punish anyone again. But I don't think we'd better stay to find out." He buckled the sword and scabbard he'd taken from the barrow onto his belt. Eilonwy thought about doing the same with hers, but her blade was longer than Taran's, so instead, she slung it from her shoulder.

Taran looked at it. "Why—that's the sword the king was holding."

Eilonwy shrugged. "Naturally. It should be the best one, shouldn't it?" She picked up her bauble from where Taran had flung it when he had been digging her out of the collapsing castle. "We're at the far side of the castle," she added. "What used to be the castle. Your friend is down there, among those trees—assuming he waited for you. I'd be surprised if he did, with all this going on…"

Taran of Caer Dallben was already running ahead eagerly. Eilonwy darted after him, and so she heard him cry joyfully, "Gwydion! Gwydion!" And she stopped. Somewhere, something had gone very wrong.

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**A/N: The Gwydion thorn bush chapter is my least favorite. This is perhaps my favorite. Eilonwy-meets-Taran was a joy to write. I've seen discussion on the forums interpreting her dialogue in BoT as charmingly sarcastic. With respect, I never got that feeling from her. I always felt Eilonwy was incredibly isolated, and for the first two books, anyway, said almost exactly what popped into her head. I don't think it makes her ditzy, though. I simply feel she really doesn't know any better for a while. That she's incredibly intelligent and independent I feel can be surmised by her maintaining morality and free-thought despite being raised by Achren for who knows how long. I've tried to convey the intelligence, naivete, loneliness, and inherent joy of the character in this chapter. I do hope I managed it.**

**Happy New Year! **

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp **


	6. A Mistake Both Tragic and Fortunate

**Disclaimer: I've changed the camera only with the highest of respect.**

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A Mistake Both Tragic and Fortunate

FFLEWDDUR FFLAM

Fflewddur, frankly, had no clue what was going on. First a little girl had rescued him from his cell, telling him that some Assistant Pig-Keeper he'd never heard of wanted him saved and that his horse was in the woods. She'd led him through a regular rabbit warren of passages, all musty and cramped, and then left him without so much as a farewell. He'd found the horse he ostensibly owned sure enough, a fine white mare he'd never seen before in his life.

Fflewddur figured the smart thing to do would be to take the horse and be on his way before the mistake was discovered. That girl's golden sphere was magical, sure enough, and when he'd learned that the woman with no ear for music was Achren, former Lady of Annuvin, well, he'd just as soon have been across Prydain from her. He always said, don't meddle. Still, he supposed it was the least he could do to wait, thank his rescuer, and explain the mistake. Perhaps he'd even help this Assistant Pig-Keeper find the prisoner he'd meant to have rescued. A Fflam is valiant! Besides, it would make a good song for the halls in Caer Dathyl. Maybe they'd even make him a real bard, if the song was good enough.

The girl had been a long time in returning, though, and Fflewddur had examined the horse. The saddlebags were mostly empty of provisions, and what was there was at least a week old. Whoever this Assistant Pig-Keeper's companion was, he had been on the road for some time before Achren had taken him captive. But what really caught Fflewddur's attention was the faded insignia on the mare's saddle. It was the emblem of the House of Don. That clenched it for the bard. He would have to stay and help. A kinsman was a kinsman, and a kinsman in need must be aided. A Fflam is loyal! As he waited, he'd drawn the rough brush from the saddlebags and attempted to make the beautiful mare a bit more comfortable, brushing some of the dried blood out of her coat, and the leaves out of her mane and tail.

The night had grown chill, and Fflewddur had leant up against a tree, wearied with waiting. Then, hours after he'd been left there, there had been a rumble and a roar. The earth had shaken, and blue flames and lightning had lit up the sky. Fflewddur had almost fled. Enchantment! And of the worst, most frightening kind! He had peered through the trees, and seen Spiral Castle begin to crumble. Yet, stronger than his fear of magic was his fear for his kinsman and the little girl, most probably still inside the toppling fortress. He had placed a hand on the quivering mare's flank, and shivered himself, but he had not fled.

The moon came out from behind the clouds, lighting up the wood, and Fflewddur heard voices approaching. One was his rescuer's. The other cried aloud, "Gwydion! Gwydion!"

A boy ran into the trees. He caught sight of Fflewddur, and stilled. Then he drew a sword from his belt and ran at the bard, furious. Fflewddur had to duck beneath the blade of the sword. He darted behind a tree.

"You're not Gwydion!" the boy shouted in a rage.

"Never claimed I was," Fflewddur shouted back, dancing back again. "If you think I'm Gwydion, you're dreadfully mistaken."

"Come out of there!" the boy demanded.

Fflewddur laughed slightly hysterically. "Certainly not while you're swinging that enormous—" he dodged the blade again. "Here now, watch that! Great Belin, I was safer in Achren's dungeon!"

The boy thrust out with the sword again. "Come out or you won't be able to!"

"Truce! Truce! You can't smite an unarmed man!"

The girl ran out then and seized the angry boy. "Stop it," she demanded furiously. "That's no way to treat your friend, after I went to all the bother of rescuing him!"

The boy rounded on her. "What treachery is this? You left my companion to die! You've been with Achren all along. I should have known it. You're no better than she is!"

In his grief he raised his sword against her, but the girl Eilonwy ran off sobbing into the woods.

Fflewddur stepped out from his tree. "Truce?" he asked again. "Believe me, if I'd known it was going to cause all this trouble I wouldn't have listened to that redheaded girl."

The lad, a boy of about fourteen, Fflewddur judged, stared stonily at the ground. Fflewddur walked towards him, keeping his hands raised. "Humblest apologies for disappointing you. I'm awfully flattered you mistook me for Prince Gwydion. There's hardly any resemblance, except possibly a certain air of…"

"I do not know who you are," the boy cut him off, looking up at last. "I do know that a brave man has bought your life for you."

Fflewddur bowed. "I am Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo," he said. "A bard of the harp at your service."

The lad shook his head. "I have no need of bards. A harp will not bring my companion to life."

Fflewddur sucked in his breath. So that was it. Of all of the Sons of Don to be mistaken for and rescued in place of! "Lord Gwydion is dead? Those are sorrowful tidings. He is a kinsman and I owe allegiance to the House of Don. But why do you blame his death on me? If Gwydion has bought my life, at least tell me how, and I shall mourn with you."

The boy waved a hand at him sadly. "Go your way. It is no fault of yours. I trusted Gwydion's life to a traitor and liar. My own life should be forfeit."

Fflewddur frowned. Eilonwy didn't strike him as a traitor and a liar. He suspected some mistake had been made. "Those are hard words to apply to a winsome lass," he said at last. "Especially one who isn't here to defend herself."

"I want no explanation from her," the boy muttered. "There is nothing she can tell me. She can lose herself in the forest, for all I care."

Fflewddur raised an eyebrow. "If she's as much of a traitor and a liar as you say then you're letting her off easily. You may not want her explanation, but I'm quite sure Gwydion would. Allow me to suggest you go and find her before she strays too far."

This reference to Gwydion did the trick. The boy raised his head at last. "Yes," he said, and his mouth thinned grimly. "Gwydion shall have justice." He turned and walked off in the direction Eilonwy had gone, and Fflewddur breathed out, thinking hard.

Some mischief was afoot, that was plain. Fflewddur Fflam was rescued by some miracle, and Gwydion was left in Spiral Castle, and this boy- Taran, Fflewddur seemed to remember Eilonwy had called him- seemed to be at the middle of it. It was a devilish mistake, and a costly one. Prydain could hardly do without Prince Gwydion. As for Fflewddur, king though he be, he very much suspected things would go on just fine without him. He was a rather shabby king, if he were honest with himself. He looked at his gifted harp and sighed. A shabby bard, too.

After a few moments, Eilonwy and the boy came back. The girl was bearing that witch-light of hers, and her bright blue eyes were grave, but no longer upset. The boy, however, looked more miserable than ever. Fflewddur looked closely at him. He'd had a rough time of it lately, it looked like. His face was scratched and dirty, his clothes were snagged in a dozen places, a dirty bandage poked out from beneath his shirt around his right shoulder, and another was wrapped around his forearm.

"Fflewddur Fflam, Son of Godo," he said quietly, "I am Taran of Caer Dallben, Assistant Pig-Keeper. I apologise for the misunderstanding. And for threatening your life. The fault is mine. Eilonwy daughter of Angharad told me earlier today there was another prisoner in the dungeon. Without asking further I assumed it was Gwydion. We had been captured sometime yesterday, I think. I told her to rescue the other prisoner without telling her his name. I did not trust her, and in this I was wrong. Gwydion was never in the dungeon, but was taken to some other, more secret place."

Fflewddur nodded. It was what he had suspected. He smiled wryly. "So it seems I've been rescued by mistake. I should have known it would turn out to be something like that. I kept asking myself, crawling along those beastly tunnels, who could possibly be interested whether I was languishing in a dungeon or not?"

Taran ignored this. "I am going back to the castle," he told Fflewddur and Eilonwy. "There may be hope that Gwydion still lives."

This cheered Fflewddur. "By all means!" he cried. "A Fflam to the rescue! Storm the castle! Carry it by assault! Batter down the gates!"

"There's not much of it left to storm," said Eilonwy, not entirely able to conceal her happiness.

"Oh? Very well, we shall do the best we can." Fflewddur was a little disappointed. The storming of castles made for a much better song than the digging through the wreckage for a man that was probably already dead.

When Eilonwy led Fflewddur and Taran back out of the trees where he could see better the damage that had been done, he was amazed that Taran had any hope at all. The place was in complete ruins. Every stone seemed to have toppled. In fact, the only thing left standing at all was the gate. In the moonlight, Fflewddur could clearly see the bodies of several guards lying beneath different bits of wreckage. He shuddered. Horrible way to go, crushed by castle.

The boy Taran ignored the bodies of the guards and plunged right into the ruins. His face was desperate. Fflewddur bit back a warning to be wary. Some of the rubble might not have settled just yet, and the last thing he wanted was another body to dig out of the boulders because some more of the castle suddenly collapsed. "Help me!" the boy cried, putting his shoulder to one of the boulders.

The girl ran forward immediately, but Fflewddur could see that wouldn't be any good. So, cautiously, he made his way to the two children and tried to help them shift some of the wreckage. It wasn't any good. He knew it wouldn't be. But nevertheless it was nearly an hour before Taran gave up. A single tear cut a channel through the dirt and dust on the boy's face, and his lip trembled. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a torn sleeve, and then shivered as a late night (or was it an early morning) breeze picked up. "We can do no more," he told Fflewddur and the girl at last. "This shall stand as Gwydion's burial mound."

Fflewddur clapped the boy on the shoulder. "I grieve with you, my friend. He was a great man, and a kinsman of mine. But might I suggest, before we leave here…" he broke off, grimacing. "That is to say, my sword's probably buried beneath all that rubble, too. And what with beasts and Cauldron-Born and who knows what else about, I think we'd best take what weapons we can find here."

Eilonwy nodded tiredly. Her face was pale in the moonlight. "That's a wise decision. For certain I don't wish to be eaten by beasts or captured by soldiers and taken someplace even more horrid than here. That would be like someone snatching a honey cake from right under one's nose!"

Fflewddur looked at the girl cautiously. He still didn't know how the girl fit into all this. Obviously she had lived here, but she didn't seem to have wanted to in the least. He wondered where she came from, and whether she'd go back there, now that Spiral Castle had fallen. Taran nodded, though, and the three of them went back to the bodies of the guards. They were able to scavenge several unbroken weapons from the wreckage. Fflewddur himself took a dagger, sword, and spear. He had no intention of letting himself be captured again like that. Great Belin!

Eventually, though, they all seemed to decide they were done at the ruins, and they walked a little ways down from the hill. After a brief conversation, it was determined that they would walk a little further, far enough away from whatever evil lurked around the ruins for safety, but not far enough they would lose themselves in the dark, before they made camp.

The three of them wandered together, neither of them saying much where they were going or why, until they found a wooded spot that seemed far enough from Spiral Castle. Fflewddur flung down his stolen gear and placed his harp aside wearily. Taran relieved Melyngar of her tack. He opened the saddlebags and pulled out a cloak.

"Here, Eilonwy," he said. "It no longer serves my companion, so it may as well keep you warm tonight." He tossed the girl the cloak, and she caught it gratefully. "I will stand first watch," he said. "None of us should sleep unguarded when we know not what enemies might be about."

Fflewddur looked curiously at the lad. He sounded so much older than the youth that he looked, and his face was lined with sorrow. Still, he wasn't going to argue. "Wake me, then, in a few hours' time," he said simply. Taran nodded. Fflewddur lay down. From behind him, he heard the deep breathing of the girl, already asleep.

He woke up abruptly when he heard a snap from the bushes. He opened his eyes and saw a small, shaggy creature crouching next to the upright shadow that was the Assistant Pig-Keeper. "Crunchings and munchings?" the creature whimpered.

Taran did not draw his sword, but he looked disgusted, nonetheless. Fflewddur sat up, and a few feet away, Eilonwy did the same.

"Who is your peculiar friend?"

"For an Assistant Pig-Keeper," yawned Eilonwy, "You do keep strange company. Where did you find it? And what is it? I've never seen anything like that in my life."

Neither had Fflewddur. The thing crouching next to Taran looked a little like a man, a little like a dog, a little like a starved bear cub, and more like a walking bird's nest than anything else, what with all the leaves and twigs in the hair that covered its entire body.

"He is no friend of mine," Taran spat bitterly. "He is a miserable, sneaking wretch who deserted us as soon as we were attacked."

Fflewddur understood the 'us' to mean Taran and Lord Gwydion. He frowned down at the thing. It groveled. "No, no! Poor humble Gurgi is always faithful to mighty lords—what joy to serve them, even with shakings and breakings."

Taran shook his head. "Tell the truth," he said sternly. "You ran off when we needed you most."

"Slashings and gashings are for noble lords, not for poor, weak Gurgi," insisted the creature—Gurgi—Fflewddur supposed. "Oh fearsome whistlings of blades! Gurgi ran to look for help, mighty lord."

"You didn't succeed in finding any."

"Oh, sadness! There was no help for brave warriors. Gurgi went far, far, with great squeakings and shriekings."

Taran smiled bitterly. "I'm sure you did."

"What else can unhappy Gurgi do? He is sorry to see great warriors in distress, oh, tears of misery! But in battle, what would there be for poor Gurgi except hurtful guttings and cuttings of his throat?"

Fflewddur pursed his lips, regarding the creature. It certainly seemed sincerely sorry to have left the boy and Lord Gwydion in danger. In fact, he felt a little pity for the sniveling, cowardly thing.

Eilonwy seemed to agree with him. "It wasn't very brave," she admitted, "but it wasn't altogether stupid, either. I don't see what advantage there was for him to be chopped up, especially if he wasn't any help to you in the first place."

"Oh, wisdom of a noble lady!" cried the Gurgi, throwing itself at the girl's feet with loud sobs. "If Gurgi had not gone seeking help, he would not be here to serve you now. But he is here! Yes, yes, faithful Gurgi returns to beatings and bruisings from the terrifying warrior!"

Taran made a frustrated sound, and his hand fell from his sword hilt. "Just keep out of my sight. Or you really will have something to complain about."

Gurgi started to go. "Gurgi hastens to obey, mighty lord. He will say no more, not even whisperings of what he saw. No, he will not disturb the sleepings of powerful heroes. See how he leaves, with tearful farewells."

Taran stood up straighter. "Come back here immediately!"

The creature was back in an instant. "Crunchings?"

Taran sighed. "Listen to me, there's hardly enough to go round, but I'll give you a fair share of what we have. After that, you'll have to find your own munchings."

Gurgi wagged his head eagerly. "Many more hosts march in the valley with sharp spears—" he said immediately. "Oh, many more. Gurgi watches so quietly and cleverly, he does not ask them for help. No, they would only give harmful hurtings."

"What's this, what's this?" Fflewddur demanded. "A great host? I should love to see them. I always enjoy processions and that sort of thing."

Taran shook his head. "The enemies of the House of Don are gathering," he said to Fflewddur. "Gwydion and I saw them before we were captured. Now, if Gurgi speaks the truth, they have gathered reinforcements."

Fflewddur sprang to his feet, incensed. "A Fflam never shrinks from danger!" he cried. "The mightier the foe, the greater the glory! We shall seek them out, set upon them! The bards shall sing our praises forever!"

For a moment, Taran's face lit up. Then he shook his head regretfully. "No—no. It would be folly to think of attacking them." He smiled at Fflewddur, and for a moment, Fflewddur saw a kindred spirit peeking out at him. "The bards would sing of us, but we'd be in no position to appreciate it."

Fflewddur nodded, and sat down. The girl just looked annoyed. "You can talk about the bards singing your praises all you want. I'm in no mood to do battle. I'm going to sleep."

She lay back down again, flung Gwydion's cloak over her head, and to the best Fflewddur could see, did just that. Fflewddur shrugged. He looked up at Taran and Gurgi. "Well, if we aren't attacking the enemy, so be it," he said, still a bit annoyed that they weren't. "Go to sleep, Taran, lad. I'll keep watch now."

The boy nodded. He turned to Gurgi. "I'll give you your crunchings and munchings in the morning, when all of us eat," he told the creature. "For now, you try to sleep, too."

Gurgi, as Taran bid, lay down at Eilonwy's feet. Taran lay down a few feet away, closer to Melyngar, and pulled his cloak over him. But he stared at the sky, between the branches of the trees, and Fflewddur knew he wasn't sleeping.

He wondered what the boy was thinking. A strange fellow, this Assistant Pig-Keeper, he thought. This Taran of Caer Dallben. A brave lad, and, he thought, a trustworthy one, for all Taran had spent the first several minutes of their acquaintance waving a sword at him. But Fflewddur had to wonder what an Assistant Pig-Keeper, and such a young one, had been doing travelling around with Lord Gwydion and running into armies and Cauldron-Born. Caer Dallben, he thought. Dallben. As in Dallben the Enchanter? He looked more warily at where Taran lay. Enchantments. He didn't like them. Never meddle, as he always said to himself.

Then again, he could hardly leave the lad on his own with the girl and that creature. It was all very strange. Most irregular. Fflewddur shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position against the tree. His gaze wandered to his harp, and he wondered if this adventure he seemed to have stumbled across might make a good song, one day.

The next day dawned clear and bright. Eilonwy and Gurgi woke first. The girl stretched, and Gurgi shook himself like a dog. "Good morning, Fflewddur, -er, Gurgi, is it?"

"Yes, yes, wise, noble lady! Crunchings and munchings for faithful, hungry Gurgi?"

Eilonwy frowned. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was all you cared about," she told the creature. "I'd think you didn't care about Taran and poor Lord Gwydion at all. No," she said decisively. "I think you shan't have anything until Taran wakes."

Gurgi groveled and disclaimed with much grumbling and mumbling, but Fflewddur decided to ignore him. Eilonwy listened politely for about a moment, but then she, too, stopped heeding the creature. Instead, she picked up the sword she'd been carrying and began to examine it. Taran sat up with a moan. He gave a sharp outcry when he saw Gurgi by the saddlebags.

"Just wait a moment, you greedy thing! Yes, you'll get your crunchings and munchings. Wait just a moment." He went to the saddlebags and shared out some food, frowning. Gurgi sat down, quite contented, it seemed, with his breakfast. Taran handed Fflewddur some dry meat and stale bread. "It's not much," he said. "But I fear there is not much remaining in Melyngar's saddlebags."

"No matter, no matter," Fflewddur said, his mouth beginning to water. "This will do quite nicely." He bolted down his share quickly. Achren's prisoner fare had been none too rich.

Taran went over to Eilonwy. The two of them began to talk a bit, apparently about the sword she was examining. There was some disagreement there, and Fflewddur stood up, having finished his breakfast. "It always means something is forbidden," the girl was saying. "Of course, all of Achren's things are like that, but some are more forbidden than others. There's another inscription, too, but it's in the Old Writing. Oh, I do wish Achren had finished teaching it to me. I can almost make it out, but not quite, and there's nothing more irritating! It's like not finishing what you started out to say."

Fflewddur looked at the weapon the girl was holding. It looked old, very old. The pommel was richly jeweled, and the scabbard was discolored, and from age, not only from being dragged through the ruins of Spiral Castle. He went pale, and whistled.

"Comes from a barrow, eh? I suggest getting rid of it immediately. Never had much confidence in things you find in barrows. It's a bad business having anything to do with them. You can't be sure where else they've been and who all's had them."

Taran's face was alight with more interest than Fflewddur had seen on it yet. "If it's an enchanted weapon, shouldn't we keep it…"

Eilonwy cut him off. "Oh, do be quiet!" she cried. "I can't hear myself think. I don't know what you're both talking about, getting rid of it or not getting rid of it. After all, it's mine, isn't it? I found it and carried it out, and almost got stuck in a dirty old tunnel because of it."

Fflewddur hadn't heard this part of the story. He was about to ask about it, but Taran turned to him inquiringly. "Bards are supposed to understand these things," he said.

Fflewddur inwardly started to panic a little, but instead of saying so he merely leaned forward to look at the scabbard. Couldn't have the children thinking he was afraid or ignorant, after all. As the girl said, the scabbard was covered in strange, very ancient-looking writing indeed. "Naturally," he said. "These inscriptions are all pretty much the same. I see this one's on the scabbard rather than the blade. It says, oh, something like 'Beware my Wrath'—the usual sentiments."

A harp string twanged behind him, and Fflewddur bit back a curse. He backed away. "Excuse me."

Taran and Eilonwy continued to quarrel about the sword behind him, and Fflewddur sighed, knotting his string. Blasted old pot! The slightest embellishment of the facts, the teensiest alteration, the smallest exaggeration or elaboration whatever…he shook his head. The voices of his companions behind him began to rise. Oh, Fflewddur thought, they really were children, weren't they? Fishing his tuning key out from the pocket of his jacket, he thought he'd better go back to them before someone got hurt.

Indeed, as soon as he arrived, Eilonwy looked about ready to slap Taran. Idly, Fflewddur wondered what the boy had said. Not like it didn't seem that the girl had a temper. So did Taran, now he thought on it. "Here now," he told them both. "No squabbling; there's not a bit of use to it." He began tuning his harp, and Eilonwy looked just as ready to quarrel with him as with Taran.

"That inscription was a very important one," she said with an air of superiority. "It didn't say anything about bewaring anyone's wrath. You're a fine bard, if you can't make out the writing on an enchanted sword."

Fflewddur cleared his throat. He'd very much hoped this wouldn't come up. Somehow, though, it nearly always did. "Well, you see, the truth of the matter is this way. I'm not officially a bard."

Eilonwy blinked. "I didn't know there were unofficial bards," she said hesitantly.

Fflewddur smiled. "Oh, yes indeed. At least in my case. I'm also a king."

"A king?" Taran's eyes widened, and he dropped to one knee. "Sire!"

Fflewddur blushed, and he waved away the boy's bow. "None of that, none of that. I don't bother with it anymore."

Eilonwy looked skeptical. "Where is your kingdom?" she demanded.

"Several days' journey east of Caer Dathyl," Fflewddur said. "It is a vast realm…" The harp twanged violently, and one of the two strings that broke hit his hand, stinging it rather badly. "Drat the thing. There go two more strings. As I was saying. Yes, well, it is actually a rather small kingdom in the north, very dull and dreary. So I gave it up. I'd always loved barding and wandering—and that's what I decided to do."

Taran looked rather impressed, but Eilonwy folded her arms. "I thought bards had to study a great deal. A person can't just go and decide…"

Fflewddur felt his face heating up. "Yes, that was one of the problems," he said hurriedly. "I studied; I did quite well in the examinations…" The harp shuddered beneath his hands and a string on the high-end broke. Fflewddur winced. "I did quite poorly," he said from between gritted teeth, glaring at the thing, "And the Council of Bards wouldn't admit me. Really, they want you to know so much these days. Volumes and volumes of poetry, and chants and music and calculating the seasons, and history; and all kinds of alphabets you spell out on your fingers, and secret signs—a man couldn't hope to cram it all into his skull."

Taran looked sympathetic, Eilonwy rather unimpressed, and Fflewddur went on, not really looking either of the children in the face. "The Council were very nice to me. Taliesin, the Chief Bard himself, presented me with this harp. He said it was exactly what I needed. I sometimes wonder if he was really doing me a favor. It's a very nice harp, but I have such trouble with the stings. I'd throw it away and get another, but it has a beautiful tone; I should never find one as good. If only the beastly strings…"

Eilonwy eyed the harp. "They do seem to break frequently…"

"Yes, that's so," Fflewddur said with a grimace. "I've noticed it usually happens when—well, I'm an emotional sort of fellow, and I do get carried away. I might, ah, readjust the facts slightly; purely for dramatic effect, you understand."

"If you'd stop readjusting the facts quite as much perhaps you wouldn't have that trouble with the harp," Eilonwy suggested.

"Yes, I suppose. I try, but it's hard, very hard. As a king, you get into the habit. Sometimes I think I pass more time fixing strings than playing. But, there it is. You can't have everything."

Taran looked thoughtful then. "Where were you journeying when Achren captured you?" he asked suddenly.

"No place in particular," Fflewddur answered. "That's one advantage. You don't have to hurry to get somewhere. You keep moving, and next thing you know, there you are. Unfortunately, in this case, it was Achren's dungeon. She didn't care for my playing. That woman has no ear for music."

Taran didn't seem to care much about that, though. He looked nervously at Eilonwy, and bit his lip, and then he caught Fflewddur's gaze. "Sire, I ask a boon."

Fflewddur waved off the formality. "Please, Fflewddur will do very well. A boon? Delighted! I haven't done any boon-granting since I gave up my throne."

Taran sighed. "Please, you should sit down. This might take some small explanation."

Fflewddur did so, and Taran and Eilonwy sat with him. The two of them, and Gurgi, when he had quite finished smacking his lips, listened as Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper at Caer Dallben, recounted what had befallen him. Apparently, he had left home when the approaching Horned King had frightened the animals at Caer Dallben, and Hen Wen, the oracular white pig belonging to Dallben that Taran helped to care for, had run into the woods to escape him. Taran had run after her, but he had run into the Horned King on the way, been wounded, and lost track of her.

Prince Gwydion had found him wounded and unconscious in the forest. It seemed that the Prince of Don, too, had been seeking Hen Wen, in need of some information she could provide. Taran was a little sketchy as to why Gwydion had taken him along after this meeting, but Fflewddur guessed that his kinsman hadn't wanted to leave a wounded youth alone in the forest with dangerous war-leaders about. Anyway, the two of them had started to track her. On the way, Gwydion had confided in the boy that the Horned King was definitely Arawn's servant, and with some help from Gurgi, they had seen the army- all the southern cantrevs the Horned King had raised up to march against Caer Dathyl and the Sons of Don. Taran's face was pale, tight, and grave as he recounted their numbers and savage behavior.

"We did not escape with this information, though," Taran said. "Just a short distance away from that place, we were attacked by a group of soldiers and Cauldron Born. They captured us and took us to Spiral Castle. We were separated. Eilonwy helped me to escape, but my companion now lies dead." He bowed his head and was silent for a moment. Then he raised his head and spoke in an even, measured voice.

"There is no doubt in my mind the Sons of Don must have news of the uprising before the Horned King strikes. If he triumphs, Arawn will have Prydain by the throat. I have seen with my own eyes what that means."

Fflewddur's blood was racing. He leapt to his feet. Here, indeed, were the makings of a great ballad! "I see your plan. You shall keep on looking for your pig, and you want me to warn the warriors of Don. Splendid! I shall start off immediately. And if the hosts of the Horned King overtake me…" He drew his sword, slashing it, already seeing the glorious scene play out. "They shall know the valor of a Fflam!"

Taran shook his head, and disappointed, Fflewddur sheathed his sword and sat down again. "No," said the boy. "I shall journey to Caer Dathyl myself. I do not question your valor, but the danger is too great. I ask no one else to face it in my stead."

Fflewddur frowned. He could see that the danger was great, but surely that was all the more reason for the task to be his, not this boy's. He rather thought the boy had been through enough already, actually. He was all scratched up, and his face was so pale and tired. And this oracular pig. Fflewddur had heard of her before. Taran's search for her was a worthy one. "When do you intend to seek your pig?" he asked.

"My own quest must be given up. If it is possible, after the first task is done, I mean to return to it. Until then, I serve only Gwydion. It was I who cost him his life, and it is justice for me to do what I believe he would have done."

Eilonwy, beside the boy, opened her mouth, but Fflewddur spoke first. "As I grasp the situation I think you're taking too much blame on yourself. You had no way of knowing Gwydion wasn't in the dungeon."

"It changes nothing. I have made my decision."

Fflewddur would have protested again, but then he looked at the boy, and he went still. There was something in the set of his jaws and shoulders, in the steady tone of his voice, and in the burning light of his eyes that made him stop and think. It gave him a bit of a turn to see it in a dirty, scratched-up, exhausted youth Assistant Pig-Keeper, but there was something in Taran's face that was a shadow of something Fflewddur had seen in the faces of Lord Gwydion and Math, or in the face of his steward, Geris, whenever Fflewddur informed him that he'd be off wandering again. He inclined his head. "What is your boon, then?"

Taran stood and dusted his hands off. Fflewddur stood with him. "It is twofold," Taran said. "First, tell me how I may reach Caer Dathyl as quickly as possible. Second, I beg you to conduct this girl safely to her own people."

Fflewddur felt his stomach drop a split-second before Eilonwy was on her feet ranting. "Conducted?" she cried. "I shall be conducted where I please! I'm not going to be sent back, just so I can be sent someplace else; and it will be another dreary place, you can be sure. No, I shall go to Caer Dathyl, too!"

Taran crossed his arms. "There is risk enough without having to worry about a girl."

"I don't like being called 'a girl' and 'this girl' as if I didn't have a name at all," Eilonwy told Taran. "It's like having your head put in a sack. If you've made your decision, I've made my own. I don't see how you're going to stop me." She tensed, then, and rounded on Fflewddur, angry and scared. "If you try to conduct me to my mean, stupid kinsmen—and they're hardly related to me in the first place—that harp will be in pieces around your ears! And if a certain Assistant Pig-Keeper—I won't even mention his name—thinks otherwise, he'll be even more mistaken!"

"Here now," Fflewddur said, "Let's be reasonable, Eilonwy. There need not be any smashing of harps…"

But Eilonwy was trying to protest more. She drew nearer the Assistant Pig-Keeper, angry though she was, and Fflewddur sighed. Who knew how long the girl had spent at Spiral Castle with Achren? It was hardly a wonder that she wasn't anxious to trust her kinsmen again with her fate, but he could see plain as plain that she'd firmly attached herself to Taran of Caer Dallben, however much she quarreled with him. "Now, I know that this must be uncomfortable," he tried to say, but Gurgi had thrown his growling and whining into the debate, and all the racket was making it hard for Fflewddur to get his arguments in line.

"Stop it!" shouted Taran finally, and everyone quieted. He glared at Eilonwy. "You could be tied up and set on Melyngar," he said. She tossed her head furiously, but Taran held up a hand. "But that will not be done. Not because of all the commotion you raised, but because I realise now that it is best."

Fflewddur frowned, and Taran continued. "There is greater safety in greater numbers. Whatever happens, there will be more chance for one of us to reach Caer Dathyl. I believe we should all stay together."

Fflewddur relaxed. Truth be told, he liked this idea much better than the one where the boy went off on his own into country he didn't know on a desperate mission involving enemy armies. Gurgi jumped up, "And faithful Gurgi, too! He will follow! Too many wicked enemies are smirking and lurking to jab him with pointy spears!"

Taran looked skyward, as if praying for patience, but he did not protest. Instead, he looked at Fflewddur. "If he agrees, Fflewddur shall act as guide," he said uncertainly. More sure of himself, he rounded again on Gurgi and Eilonwy. "But I warn you, nothing must hinder our task."

Fflewddur shifted. "Ordinarily I prefer to be in charge of this type of expedition myself," he said. It was sort of true. He rather felt he should say something of the kind, considering his companions were children and beasts. But Taran drew himself up, and Fflewddur shook his head. "But since you are acting for Lord Gwydion, I accept your authority as I would accept his. A Fflam is yours to command!"

He bowed to Taran, only half in jest. There was something about the boy…

Everyone was silent, and Eilonwy went off to pack up the saddlebags. "Forward, then!" Fflewddur cried. "And if we must give battle, so be it! Why, I've carved my way through walls of spearmen..."

He cried out in pain, but not necessarily shock, as six harp strings gave a great twang, stinging his hand again. The entire harp vibrated in protest of Fflewddur's exaggeration. He sighed, and while Taran and Eilonwy made ready to leave camp, he began fixing his harp.

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**A/N: With Eilonwy, it's the similes that trip me up. With Fflewddur Fflam, it's difficult to tell exactly how much of his public persona carries over into his head. To what extent does he believe the perception of himself he wants others to see? Does he ever believe his own lies? Because he is always able to admit that he's lied when the harp breaks, I've taken a risk and assumed here that Fflewddur is much humbler in his head than he is to others. **

**Fflewddur is perhaps the hardest character for me to write in this story, but I also think he's the most important to the point I'm trying to make. I hope I do it all justice. Probably don't.**

**Have a feeling I'm disappointing my readers. I am trying.**

**LMSharp **


	7. The Many Discomforts of a Fflam

**Disclaimer: Maybe someday I will write something as brilliant and touching as Lloyd Alexander's _The Book of Three_. Not today, though. Today I can offer you but a humble fanfiction set in his greater work.**

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In Which a Fflam is More or Less Consistently Uncomfortable

Fflewddur Fflam's great adventure to save Prydain started pretty well, even considering he was attempting his heroism under the leadership of an Assistant Pig-Keeper, accompanied by a shrewish little lass and some creature that couldn't make up its mind whether it was a wolfhound or a man. It was true that Eilonwy insisted on walking, even though Taran, Fflewddur, and Gurgi all knew they'd make better time if she rode Melyngar. True, too, that Gurgi's smell and groveling for crunchings and munchings took a bit of getting used to. And Taran was always trying to get a look at that blighted barrow-sword, Dyrnwyn, that Eilonwy insisted he shouldn't touch. But altogether Taran and Eilonwy weren't a bad pair of children. Both were clever and good-hearted and brave, and even Gurgi wasn't a bad chap, for all he seemed to be a bottomless pit.

The morning was clear, the weather fair, and they were making good time along the Ystrad's western bank when the trouble started. From the rear of the party, Taran gave a shout for them to find cover in the woods. Once they had done so, he pointed back to what he had seen coming from the ruins of Spiral Castle. Fflewddur tensed. There were two of them, and he knew from the warriors' stiff backs and empty faces that they were no longer men. Cauldron-Born.

"How long have they been behind us? Have they seen us?" he asked Taran.

Taran peered out. "There's your answer," he replied, pointing as the Cauldron-Born changed direction and started towards them. He stood. "We must outrun them."

Hoping to lose them in the forest, the little band was forced to abandon the path Fflewddur had decided on. The next several hours were…frankly, they were terrible. Trying to outrun deathless warriors that have no need for food or sleep was nothing at all like a picnic amongst the petunias, Fflewddur reflected between ragged breaths. The Gurgi seemed to be able to cope with the relentless pace they were forced to maintain without much effort, but he was the only one. The girl had tried to keep the pace proudly and bravely, but she gave out shortly after nightfall. Taran, panting and pale, wordlessly removed the weapons from Melyngar. He tossed some to Fflewddur, some to Gurgi, and took some himself. Eilonwy was so tired that she couldn't even protest much when Taran heaved her bodily into the saddle. Shaking his sweaty hair out of his face, Taran took up the lead again. If Fflewddur had had any breath to spare, he might have said something to the boy about his endurance.

They pressed on all through the night. Finally, at dawn, when even Gurgi was starting to stumble, Taran called a halt. Eilonwy looked ill- pale and sweaty- and she was sleeping heavily, but her breathing was shallow. Taran tried to lift her from Melyngar's saddle, but his arms faltered. The boy was trembling with fatigue. Fflewddur helped him without a word. They laid her on the bank, and Taran tried to unbuckle Dyrnwyn from her. She woke at that, pulling the sword away from him fitfully.

"You never understand things the first time," she slurred. "But I imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are all alike. I told you before you're not to have it, and now I'll tell you for the second time—or is it the third, or fourth? I must have lost count." Her voice was weak, and her eyelids drooped and she was asleep again nearly immediately.

Fflewddur dropped to the ground near her, stretching out his wounded muscles. "We must rest here," Taran said quietly. "If only for a little while."

"At the moment, I don't care who catches me," Fflewddur admitted. "I'd welcome Arawn himself, and ask whether he had any breakfast with him."

"The Cauldron-Born might have lost track of us during the night. I wish I knew how far we've left them behind—if we've left them behind at all."

The Gurgi leapt up from where he crouched at Eilonwy's feet. "Clever Gurgi will know with seekings and peekings!" he announced, scrambling up a nearby pine. Taran sighed, and turned to the saddlebags.

"There's hardly any food left," he said. His voice was grey. "Not enough for all of us. For my part…" he looked worriedly at Eilonwy.

Fflewddur's stomach rumbled, but he nodded. "Give Eilonwy what we do have," he said. "She doesn't look well."

Gurgi had smelled the food, though, and he came scrambling down the tree again, lifting his head to Taran eagerly.

"Stop thinking about eating for a moment," Taran told him, "What did you see?"

"Two warriors are far, but Gurgi sees them—yes, yes, they are riding full of wickedness and fierceness. But there is time for a small crunching," Gurgi said, looking at the saddlebag into which Taran had just shoved Eilonwy's food again. "Oh, very small for clever, valiant Gurgi."

"There are no more crunchings," Taran said. "If the Cauldron-Born are still on our heels, you had better worry less about food and more about your own skin."

Gurgi's face fell for a moment. Then his eyes brightened. "But Gurgi will find munchings! Very quickly—oh, yes—he is so wise to get them, to comfort the bellies of great noble lords. But they will forget poor Gurgi," he said then, whining again, "And not even give him snips and snaps for his eatings."

Taran looked doubtful, but then he looked over at Fflewddur. "If the creature knows something of foraging—that is, I grew up farming. We shall need our strength if we are to continue on at all. We cannot go on indefinitely like the Cauldron-Born. I could go with Gurgi to find us something."

"Quite right," Fflewddur agreed eagerly. His stomach rumbled again. "Better eat what we can get now, while the Cauldron-Born give us a chance to do it. I shall help you. I know all about foraging in the woods, do it constantly…" Beside him, his harp began to quiver. "No," he corrected himself. "I had better stay with Eilonwy. The truth is, I can't tell a mushroom from a toadstool. I wish I could; it would make the life of a wandering bard considerably more filling."

Taran nodded. "Come then, Gurgi," he said. "Let us go and find ourselves crunchings and munchings."

Taran and Gurgi had soon disappeared, and soon after they had, Eilonwy stirred. "Wha-Fflewddur?" she mumbled, blinking and sitting up.

Fflewddur went to Melyngar's saddlebags. The sensible creature was grazing while she could. He patted her flank companionably and fetched out the meager portion he and Taran had set aside for her. "Here, lass," he said. "Eat while you can. Taran and Gurgi have gone to find some more food, but I expect we'll be up and running again soon. Those Cauldron-Born are still after us."

Eilonwy took the food and bit into it ravenously. She was halfway done before she looked up. "This is the last of our food, isn't it? It'd have to be, if that Assistant Pig-Keeper and Gurgi are out getting more." She eyed the food, and then finished it. She looked up at Fflewddur. "Thank you, Fflewddur," she said. She sat quietly for a moment.

Fflewddur sat across from her.

"It's not like I expected," she said finally. "I'm not saying that I'd rather be at Spiral Castle, because it was dreary and awful, and I just hated Achren, but when I read in the library back there about heroic quests and great chases, I never imagined they would be this wearying. Still, I expect that they will be quite glad to get our warning at Caer Dathyl. Maybe…perhaps they'll let me stay there, once they beat the Horned King, that is." She went quiet again. She looked up at Fflewddur quickly, unexpectedly vulnerable for a split second before she lifted her chin defiantly. "I can tell you, I won't go back to my kinsmen! You can't make me, Fflewddur Fflam, you or that Assistant Pig-Keeper!"

"We might all die," Fflewddur said. "If that's any comfort to you. These Cauldron-Born…nasty things, lass. A Fflam is undaunted! But they never get tired."

"Well, I suppose we might die," Eilonwy said. "I shouldn't like to die. I'm not a sorceress yet, you know, and I have quite a lot of growing up to do. And it would be too bad for the Sons of Don to be slaughtered by that dreadful Horned King if we never got Lord Gwydion's message through." Her face set then. "No, I've made up my mind. We shan't die. We shall get through! I'm quite determined."

Fflewddur smiled. "Far be it from me to deny it, lass. You're a brave girl, Eilonwy. You didn't have to do half of what you've done, and don't think I don't know it. A Fflam is insightful!"

"Well I couldn't very well leave you and that Assistant Pig-Keeper to die in the dungeon," Eilonwy said quite practically.

Fflewddur thought for a moment. His fingers twitched. "I can tell you one thing, Eilonwy," he said. "If we do live out the night, what a ballad this journey of ours will make. I shall write it myself!"

Just then they heard low, pained groans from a little ways away. The underbrush shifted, and Taran and Gurgi came back into view. But something was the matter. Taran was half-carrying Gurgi, and the creature's leg was hanging useless and swollen at his side.

"What is the matter with him? Is he going to be all right?" Eilonwy asked, running forward.

"He twisted his leg climbing a tree for our breakfast," Taran said. "It is not broken, but he is hurt. He will ride Melyngar with you." Sighing with exhaustion, he lowered Gurgi to the grass and divided something. It appeared as though Gurgi had found some honeycomb. Taran shared some out to Fflewddur and Gurgi. Fflewddur took his, and then grabbed Taran's arm and pulled him aside.

"Your hairy friend is going to make things difficult," he said, keeping his voice low so that Eilonwy and Gurgi could not hear. "If Melyngar carries two riders, I don't know how much longer she can keep up."

Taran nodded wearily. "That is true. Yet I see nothing else we can do. Would you abandon him? Would you have cut off his head?"

"Absolutely!" Fflewddur said. "In a flash! A Fflam never hesitates. Fortunes of war and all that." Twang!

He looked away. "Oh, drat and blast! There goes another sting. A thick one, too."

He turned aside to fix his harp, and Taran left to make preparations to set out again. Fflewddur heard something pass between the boy and his creature, and was amazed to hear that the Gurgi was actually trying to offer his share of the honeycomb to Taran. He frowned. Had there actually been some discussion of beheading Gurgi? In any event, Taran and the creature seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. Taran shared out the weapons Gurgi had carried between Fflewddur and himself, got Gurgi and Eilonwy into the saddle, and the four of them started out again.

Then it was doggedly on again, running until Fflewddur's legs felt they would drop off and his eyes were burning in his head. None of them, save Eilonwy, had slept in two days, and hers had been an unhealthy sleep. She was bright-eyed again, but Fflewddur didn't know how long she would last. And Gurgi was surely looking poorly.

As day waned into afternoon, the Cauldron-Born came into sight again, still pursuing. Taran, catching view of them, stood still for the first time in two days. Fflewddur could feel his own face mirroring the boy's grim expression. "We must stand against them sooner or later," Taran said finally. "There can be no victory over the Cauldron-Born, but with luck, we can hold them off a little while. If Eilonwy and Gurgi can escape, there is still a chance."

Gurgi cried out in a loud voice, "No, no! Faithful Gurgi stays with mighty lord who spared his poor tender head! Happy, grateful Gurgi will fight, too, with slashings and gashings…"

Fflewddur cut him off. "We appreciate your sentiments, but with that leg of yours, you're hardly up to slashing or gashing or anything at all"

Eilonwy shook her head, then. "I'm not going to run, either," she said stubbornly. "I'm tired of running and having my face scratched and my robe torn, all on account of those stupid warriors." Before anyone could stop her, she leapt from Melyngar, seized a bow and arrows from Taran, and was off and running to the top of the hill they were on.

Taran ran after her, and Fflewddur looked at Gurgi. "You should stay here, my friend. If things go badly, ride like the wind!"

He dashed after Taran and Eilonwy. As he drew near, he saw that they had been struggling at the hillside, but then Eilonwy broke free. She chose an arrow, and said a few words over it Fflewddur couldn't make out. She put the arrow to the bowstring, drew back and let loose.

As it descended towards the Cauldron-Born, long, silver filaments burst from the arrow's end. What appeared to be a great spider web drifted over the heads of the deathless horsemen for a moment.

Fflewddur stopped beside the children, staring. He felt very uncomfortable. The girl had said she was studying to be an enchantress, but…he shuddered. "Great Belin! What's that? It looks like decorations for a feast!"

Just as Eilonwy had obviously intended, the web fell onto the Cauldron-Born and their mounts. She had probably intended for it to have more effect than it did, though, Fflewddur thought. The deathless warriors kept coming, and her magic snare broke, and then was nothing.

Eilonwy's face crumpled. "It didn't work! The way Achren does it, she makes it into a big sticky rope. Oh, it's all gone wrong. I tried to listen behind the door when she was practicing, but I've missed something important." She stamped her foot.

Taran drew his sword. "Take her away from here!" he cried to Fflewddur. Fflewddur was debating between helping the brave lad and dragging away the unwilling lass when the Cauldron-Born slowed, stopped, and then turned and rode away.

"It worked!" Fflewddur cried to Eilonwy. "It worked after all!"

"No," the girl replied. "Something turned them away, but I'm afraid it wasn't my spell."

Taran stared at the Cauldron-Born's retreating backs. "I think I know what it was," he said after a moment. "They are returning to Arawn. Gwydion told me they could not stay long from Annuvin. Their power must have been waning since we left Spiral Castle, and they reached the limit of their strength right here."

Fflewddur felt a surge of shameful relief. He didn't speak. Eilonwy tossed her head. "I hope they don't have enough left to get back to Annuvin," she said to Taran. "I hope they fall into pieces or shrivel up like bats."

"I doubt that they will. They must know how long they can stay and how far they can go, and still return to their master." He finally turned away and looked at Eilonwy. The three of them began walking back to Gurgi and Melyngar. "It doesn't matter," Taran said. "They're gone. And that was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Gwydion had a mesh of grass that burst into flame; but I've never met anyone else who could make a web like that."

Eilonwy's eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed. "Why, Taran of Caer Dallben, I think that's the first polite thing you've said to me!" Then suddenly, her eyes narrowed, and she tossed her head. "Of course, I should have known; it was the spider web. You were more interested in that; you didn't care whether I was in danger."

She quickened her pace, leaving the boy and Fflewddur behind, and Fflewddur couldn't help but chuckle at Taran's bemused expression. "But that's not true! I—I was…" he trailed off, realising the girl could no longer hear them. He kicked at a stone. "I can't make sense out of that girl," he complained to Fflewddur. "Can you?"

Fflewddur clapped Taran on the shoulder, still smiling. "Never mind. We aren't really expected to."

He took first watch that night, watching over the children and the fitfully turning Gurgi, who's leg had continued to swell. Fflewddur absently plucked at his harp, keeping it quiet. Great Belin! How had he gotten pulled into all this? He smiled, leaning back against a tree, thoroughly enjoying himself. Desperate flights! A pair of bickering children! A hairy whatsit in distress! Of such things were a wandering bard's life made. True, he thought, he could have done with a bit more food in his belly. He could have done without the Cauldron-Born. And he really could have done without the knowledge that Caer Dathyl and the fate of all his kinsmen rested on the shoulders of this motley crew.

Still! Fflewddur's fingers plucked the suggestion of a melody on the knotted strings of his instrument, and he smiled, committing it to memory. He'd get back to that, later.

In the morning, Fflewddur made a new plan for their journey, one involving more stealth, but less time than their original route. They could move faster now; Eilonwy insisted she was well enough to walk. Taran had made a poultice out of herbs he had found in the woods for Gurgi's bad leg, but the creature was much worse.

By that afternoon they had gained Ystrad's banks, and Taran went to scout ahead. He came back to report the position of the Horned King's army to the companions, and Fflewddur was cheered. "We're ahead of them," he told Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi. "That is excellent news. I was afraid they'd be much closer to us and we'd have to wait for nightfall to cross Ystrad. We've saved half a day! Hurry now and we'll be into the foothills of the Eagle Mountains before sundown!"

He led them into the river, which, fortunately, was shallow at this point. He led them amongst the ledges, and pine trees began to spring up on other side. Fflewddur breathed in the evening air, and felt refreshed. They weren't far from Caer Dathyl, and just a little north and east from here, he knew, lay his own tiny kingdom. He was ready to go on, even into the night. He knew this land. But Taran called a halt, looking worriedly to Gurgi.

The gash on the creature's leg had become inflamed, and he burned with fever. When the companions laid Gurgi down on the ground, Melyngar stayed close, whinnying nervously and peering down at him. Taran lit a fire, and Eilonwy gave Gurgi a drink. Fflewddur watched from a little ways away, and Taran came to him, grim-faced.

"I have done all I know," he said, in a voice small and desperate. "If there is anything else, it lies beyond my skill. He has failed badly today, and there is so little of him left I believe I could pick him up with one hand."

Fflewddur sighed and looked at the shivering Gurgi. His lips had cracked around the water skin, and they were bleeding. His leg was perhaps twice its normal size, and leaking foul humours. "Caer Dathyl is not far away," he murmured, "But our friend, I fear, may not live to see it."

Things only got worse when the wolves showed up that night. They did not attack, but they howled eerily just out of sight. None of them slept well, and the next day, when they left camp, so did the wolves.

The pack followed them, keeping maddeningly out of bowshot. The sight of their shadowy shapes in the trees sent shivers up and down Fflewddur's back.

Taran tried to be optimistic. "As long as they don't come any closer we needn't worry about them," he said, a bit too loudly.

"Oh, they won't attack us," Fflewddur told him. "Not now, at any rate. They can be infuriatingly patient if they know someone's wounded. For them, it's just a matter of waiting." He looked at Gurgi. The hairy creature smelled bad, and he had been rather whiny to begin with. But now, now that he was actually suffering greatly, he was impressively stoic, and Fflewddur felt sorry for him.

"Well," Eilonwy said, forcing levity. "I must say you're a cheerful one. You sound as if all we had to look forward to was being gobbled up."

"If they attack, we shall stand them off," Taran told her. "Gurgi was willing to give up his life for us; I can do no less for him. Above all, we must not lose heart so close to the end of our journey."

His words struck a chord in Fflewddur, and the bard threw his shoulders back. "A Fflam never loses heart!" he declared. "Come wolves or what have you!"

But they were all uneasy. Melyngar had begun snorting, and tossing her head. And they were coming to some unexpected cliffs. Fflewddur was nervous. They were losing time. "If we go any further east," he told Taran by and by, "we'll run into some really high mountains. The condition we're in, we couldn't possibly climb them. But here, we're practically walled in. Every path has led us roundabout. The cliffs there are too rugged to get over. I had thought we'd find a pass before now. Well, that's the way of it. We can only keep on bearing north as much as possible."

Taran looked worried, and Eilonwy annoyed. "The wolves don't seem to have any trouble finding their way," she grumbled.

"My dear girl," Fflewddur answered, angered at the implied criticism of his guidance. "If I were able to run on four legs and sniff my dinner a mile away, I doubt I'd have any difficulties either."

Eilonwy laughed. A nervous, weary laugh, but a laugh, nonetheless. "I'd love to see you try."

Taran raised his head suddenly. "We do have someone who can run on four legs," he said. "Melyngar! If anyone can find their way to Caer Dathyl, she can."

Fflewddur was delighted. "That's it! Every horse knows its way home! It's worth trying—and we can't be worse off than we are now."

Eilonwy was impressed, too. "For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, you do come up with some interesting ideas now and then," she told him.

Taran gave the white mare her head, and she trotted ahead immediately with the fevered Gurgi on her back. With new hope, Fflewddur and the companions followed. Melyngar proved a swift and able guide. She found a strange pass, and led them quickly into a long ravine. So fast did she go, that they almost lost sight of her. Taran cried for them to hurry, but then, leading the companions after her, he stopped.

He gave a cry, and went down beneath the body of a huge, shaggy wolf. Fflewddur put his hand to his sword hilt, but another wolf sprang down at him, landing neatly on his chest and knocking the wind from him. He braced himself for teeth tearing into him, but the wolf did not bite. A deep voice rang out then, and the wolf withdrew. Fflewddur sprang to his feet, eyeing the creature. It stood a little distance away, with another. Eilonwy drew near to him. Her eyes were wide and fearful. Taran addressed their rescuer.

"You have saved our lives," he was saying. "We are grateful."

Again the deep voice spoke in a strange language, and the wolves crowded around him, whining and wagging their tails like domestic dogs. Fflewddur shivered. The man that had saved them was unearthly. He had white hair and beard that fell to his waist, but his arms and hands were bronzed and corded with muscle, and a golden circlet sat on his brow. "From these creatures," he said to Taran, "your lives were never in danger. But you must leave this place. It is not an abode for the race of men."

"We were lost," Taran tried to explain. "We had been following our horse…"

Melyngar strode up behind him, looking very pleased with herself. The strange man looked at her, then looked back at Taran, a little surprised, it seemed. "Melyngar? Melyngar brought me four of you? I understood young Gurgi was alone. By all means, then, if you are friends of Melyngar. It is Melyngar, isn't it? She looks so much like her mother; and there are so many I cannot always keep track of the names."

Taran's brow had furrowed through this speech, and now his face unexpectedly cleared and became joyful, even. "I know who you are!" he declared. "You are Medwyn!"

"Am I now?" the man said quietly. "Yes, I have been called Medwyn. But how should you know that?"

"I am Taran of Caer Dallben. Gwydion, Prince of Don, was my companion, and he spoke of you before—before his death. He was journeying to Caer Dathyl, as we are now. I never hoped to find you."

Medwyn inclined his head. "You were quite right. You could not have found me. Only the animals know my valley. Melyngar led you here. Taran, you say? Of Caer Dallben?" He appeared to think a moment. "Let me see. Yes, there are visitors from Caer Dallben, I am sure."

Taran's eyes shone out with hope. "Hen Wen!"

Fflewddur hoped the oracular pig was here, for the boy's sake, he looked so happy, but Medwyn frowned. "Were you seeking her? Now, that is curious. No, she is not here."

"But I had thought…"

"We will speak of Hen Wen later," Medwyn said. "Your friend is badly injured, you know. Come, I shall do what I can for him." He beckoned to them, and they followed him down into his hidden valley.

Fflewddur could not help from glancing behind every now and then. The wolves, their red tongues hanging out and their yellow eyes glad, still followed. The ravine opened up then, and suddenly they were in a wide, green valley. The grass was green and thick, and there were bright white cottages. Towards the end of a valley, Fflewddur caught sight of the remains of a ship. The ribs of the hull were sunken into the ground. It had obviously been here hundreds of years, far from the sea. Fflewddur slowed, and some vague remembrance of a page he had studied in Taliesin's hall poked at his memory.

He looked around, and couldn't see the path they had come down through. "I must say," he murmured to Taran, "The old fellow's well tucked away here. I could never have found the path in, and I doubt I could find the path out."

Taran nodded, but Fflewddur could tell he wasn't listening. The boy's eyes were taking in the entire valley, drinking it in like a man dying of thirst. His eyes were bright and clear, and for the first time, he did not look worried or weary or angry at all, but like the farm-bred lad he ought to have been.

Eilonwy exclaimed beside him. "There's a fawn!" she murmured, pointing. The little animal pranced to meet Medwyn, butting her head at his side. She looked cautiously at Fflewddur at the companions, but Eilonwy, with unusual gentleness, held out her hand, and the fawn drew near to her, and Eilonwy patted its velvety head, her mouth curved in a smile of wonder and delight. "I've never seen a fawn this close," she told Taran. "Achren never had any pets—none that would stay with her, at any rate. I can't blame them at all. This one's lovely; it makes you feel all tingly, as if you were touching the wind."

They had stopped, and now Medwyn took Gurgi into a cottage. The wolves sat down beside them, and Taran unsaddled Melyngar. He caught sight of some chickens then and clapped his hands.

"Those are Dallben's chickens," he cried to Fflewddur and Eilonwy in a glad voice. "They must be! There's the brown hen, the white—I'd know that comb anywhere…" he ran towards them, and Eilonwy stroked the little fawn.

Fflewddur looked at the wolves. While his senses told him quite plainly that they had no intention of attacking, his brain was screaming wolves were enemies. The whole place was very odd. Very odd indeed. Certainly, he was grateful to Melyngar. She was a princess among horses, and he would never say otherwise. And he was glad enough for the chance to rest in safety, and, it was to be hoped, get something to eat at last. His belly grumbled. But the whole valley tasted of magic. Good magic, but magic. Fflewddur could not help but feel that Medwyn was exactly right, and this was not a place for men to tread.

Medwyn brought them food then, and told them where they could find rest. There was a bear nearby that had had breakfast with Medwyn that gave Fflewddur a bit of a turn at first. But it made no move to attack him, any more than the wolves had done. It just grunted sleepily in its hay nest and turned over. Fflewddur felt very strange. But he was so tired that he was able to sleep soon despite the company.

They stayed in Medwyn's valley that afternoon, night, and the next morning, but it seemed much longer. Time stretched in the hidden valley. Eilonwy played with the little fawn and some rabbits Medwyn had visiting, and Taran walked about transfigured. He seemed at ease with bears, wolves, deer, and chickens alike, and more than once Fflewddur saw him talking long, alone with that valley's strange lord.

With Gurgi in healing, at these times Fflewddur found himself alone, or with just Eilonwy, and rather too much time to think. That evening, Fflewddur sat by the cottage Medwyn had placed them in, plucking out the hint of the melody he'd thought of for his ballad, trying to think how he would accommodate this strange occurrence into the theme. The fawn in the wide open meadow left Eilonwy, licking her cheek with its tiny pink tongue, and the girl came over to him. She looked out across the valley. Taran was speaking to Medwyn again, by the bones of the boat. That was rather good, Fflewddur thought to himself. The bones of the boat.

"What do you think they are talking of, Fflewddur?" she asked quietly.

Fflewddur stilled the vibrations of the harp strings. "Oh, this and that," he replied. "I think our friend the Assistant Pig-Keeper understands this place a bit better than you and I."

"Perhaps," Eilonwy mused. "Maybe because he grew up on a farm? Or it might just be Taran of Caer Dallben. This valley is full of magic, anyway. I can feel it. Good magic, old magic. Better than any of the magic Achren showed me, or I even think she knew. I can't quite get at it, Fflewddur. It's like the difference between the wind and a song."

Fflewddur regarded the girl. "You've got the makings of a bard in you, lass," he told her. "I seem to recall some dusty old tome I read…" he looked at his harp. "Well, looked over, when I was studying in the halls at Caer Dathyl for the exams. Something about some sort of rainstorm at the beginning of the world, and a boat…but I can't quite…"

Eilonwy looked at the boat, then at Fflewddur. "The beginning of the world?" she said. "Do you really think so, Fflewddur?"

Fflewddur laughed. "Of course! I studied these sorts of places quite assiduously, remember! Can't miss the signs!" A harp string broke. Fflewddur looked down, sighed. "Blasted pot! She _knew_ I was lying that time! The slightest variance…even jocular…" he muttered.

Eilonwy smiled. "I don't really believe it matters," she said. "Whether this place is from the beginning of the world or not, I mean. That's what you meant, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued as Fflewddur knotted up his harp strings for the hundredth time. "What matters is that this place is here, and that poor Gurgi will get better. I think asking questions here is pointless, like wondering why the sun shines. We should be more like the animals here, and just enjoy the goodness."

Fflewddur shifted, looking away, as the sun set. "That's just it, though, isn't it, lass? I'm a man, not some wild creature. Perhaps…" Fflewddur trailed off. He plucked the harp strings again. This time his fingers found a different tune. The few chords seemed to say what he couldn't quite manage to, that he loved this place, but he was uncomfortable here, and he did not understand it. That perhaps if he had been younger, he could have understood Medwyn's valley the way Eilonwy did. That he wished he could understand it the way Taran seemed to, and that he thought that if he could, he might have been a better man.

The notes sailed through the air, and Medwyn, near Taran, looked up and at Fflewddur. Fflewddur bowed his head.

Eilonwy was looking at him, too. "It has a lovely tone," she ventured hesitantly. "You should play more." She rose, and went into the cottage.

Shortly thereafter, Taran rejoined him. The boy looked downcast, however.

"What's wrong?" Fflewddur asked him. "Medwyn is patching up our hairy friend, and I'll wager he'll help us on our way. We still have time to get the message to Caer Dathyl. A Fflam always prevails!"

Taran looked out over the valley. "It is like Caer Dallben," he said quietly. "It is strange how for many years, I have wanted nothing so much as to leave and see the wide world. Now, I long for nothing so much as to be back there." He smiled sadly, and entered the cottage to sleep as well. After a moment, Fflewddur followed him.

The next day, Gurgi rejoined them, clean and healthy and happy. Taran was the last to rejoin the party, and the Gurgi greeted him exuberantly. "Oh, joy! Gurgi is ready for new walkings and stalkings, oh, yes! And new seekings and peekings! Great lords have been kind to happy, jolly Gurgi!"

Taran smiled, and greeted Gurgi kindly. "We cannot tarry here longer, alas," he said. "You are right. It is time for new walkings." He saddled Melyngar, and did not look surprised when he saw that Medwyn had provisioned them with food and cloaks.

Medwyn himself came then. "The armies of the Horned King are by now a day's march ahead of you," he said. "But if you follow the paths I shall reveal, and move quickly, you may regain the time you have lost. It is even possible for you to reach Caer Dathyl a day, perhaps two before them. However, I warn you, the mountain ways are not easy. If you refer, I shall set you on a path toward the valley of Ystrad once again."

Taran shook his head. "Then we would be following the Horned King. There would be less chance of overtaking him, and much danger, too."

"Do not think the mountains are not dangerous," Medwyn warned. "Though it is danger of a different sort."

Fflewddur drew himself up. "A Fflam thrives on danger! Let it be the mountains or the Horned King's hosts, I fear neither—"on his back, his harp began to quiver, and he quickly added, "Not to any great extent."

"We shall risk the mountains," Taran told Medwyn.

Eilonwy nodded. "For once you've decided the right thing," she told him. "The mountains certainly aren't going to throw spears at us, no matter how dangerous they are. I really think you're improving."

Fflewddur smiled, and listened carefully as Medwyn outlined the path they were to take. He himself led them from his valley. Fflewddur knew he would never find it again as they left, and, though it made him a little sad that there were no places like it in the world elsewhere, truth be told, he thought it was just as well.

When Medwyn finally stopped at the end of a narrow pass, his last words were to Taran. "Your path now lies to the north, and here we shall part. And you, Taran of Caer Dallben—whether you have chosen wisely, you will learn from your own heart. Perhaps we shall meet again, and you will tell me. Until then, farewell."

Fflewddur looked sharply from Medwyn to Taran, and thought he knew what choice Medwyn might have offered the lad, but Taran's face was a closed door. Neither Fflewddur nor Eilonwy asked. Whatever had passed between the ageless sage and the Assistant Pig-Keeper was between them. So Fflewddur waved at the old man, and as they stepped out on the road again, he said cheerfully, "Well. I somehow feel that if we meet any more wolves, they'll know we're friends of Medwyn."

* * *

**A/N: On 1/22 Eilonwy observes with irritation as an Assistant Pig-Keeper ignores her excellent advice and takes an ill-fated shortcut, and with consternation when she meets the "Fair" folk, whom she thought would be, well, fairer. **

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp **


	8. Meetings of the Fey Kind

**Disclaimer: All hail Lloyd Alexander's genius.**

* * *

Meetings of the Fey Kind

EILONWY

Eilonwy felt much refreshed after their stay in Medwyn's valley. There was no doubt it was a queer place, but it was queer in the best sense, and she was a little sorry they couldn't stay longer. Taran was leading them now, because Fflewddur hadn't remembered all of Medwyn's instructions. Eilonwy couldn't say she was surprised. Fflewddur was very brave and very kind. She could tell that much. She was glad that she had rescued him. But the self-proclaimed bard did seem to have even more trouble understanding things than Taran of Caer Dallben did at times, even though he was so very much older. Eilonwy wondered if perhaps wisdom was not always measured by age. For sure she was much cleverer than Taran and Fflewddur both.

The going was much easier now that the Cauldron-Born weren't chasing them and Gurgi's leg was better, even though they were climbing mountains like Eilonwy hadn't ever seen before in her life. The wind was fresh and crisp. It blew her hair around, and she was so happy she almost forgot about the urgency of their mission. It was strange, Eilonwy thought, as she climbed to the top of a ridge after Taran and Melyngar. She had never thought much about good the Sons of Don at Caer Dathyl did for Prydain. But she could see quite clearly that if Achren was wicked, they were good, and if this Horned King of Taran's wanted to attack them, he must be stopped. That, and she didn't really have anything better to do, and she couldn't in good conscience leave that Assistant Pig-Keeper and Fflewddur Fflam and Gurgi stumbling along by themselves. Why, they'd be quite useless without her. Besides, the whole thing was an adventure, and even if it wasn't like she had thought it would be, for sure it was better than living in Spiral Castle!

The Assistant Pig-Keeper made a surprisingly good leader, Eilonwy thought. He remembered Medwyn's directions well, and though he made certain they got along at a good pace, he did not force them to exhaustion. They stopped at last at the top of a mountain, and built a fire for the night. Taran shared out the food Medwyn had provided them with, and Eilonwy ate with a good heart. As night fell, she lit her bauble and put it up in the rocks, adding its light to that of a fire.

She felt happy and warm and contented, and she looked over at Fflewddur. He was repairing some harp strings that had broken during the day, and Eilonwy smiled at him. She had heard him fiddling with it once in Medwyn's valley, but he had never played a song properly. She decided that needed to change. "You've been carrying that harp ever since I met you," she said to him, "And you've never once played it. That's like telling somebody you want to talk to them, and when they get ready to listen, you don't say anything."

Fflewddur looked up at her in surprise. "You'd hardly expect me to go strumming out airs while those Cauldron warriors were following us," he explained. "Somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate…" he looked at Taran, and when the Assistant Pig-Keeper nodded encouragingly, he smiled with unexpected shyness. "But—a Fflam is always obliging, so if you'd really care to hear me play…"

Without further ado, he cradled his harp, put his fingers to the strings, and began to play. The melody enveloped Eilonwy like a pair of strong arms and washed over her like water. Fflewddur did not sing, merely played. The tune was subtle and melancholy and comforting all at once, Eilonwy thought. Somehow, she heard the sea in it, the one she had been born near. She hadn't been to Llyr since she was a very tiny girl. It made her sad, somehow.

Then, it was over. Fflewddur stopped, and looked down at the harp. "Well," he murmured. "That was a surprise. I had planned something a little more lively, the sort of thing my war leader always enjoys—to put us in a bold frame of mind, you understand. The truth of the matter is, I don't really know what's going to come out of it next. My fingers go along, but sometimes I think this harp plays of itself."

He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps that's why Taliesin thought he was doing me a favor when he gave it to me," he said. "Because when I went up to the Council of Bards for my examination, I had an old pot one of the minstrels had left behind and I couldn't do more than plunk out a few chants. However, a Fflam never looks a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, I should say harp."

Eilonwy sighed. "It was a sad tune," she told them. "But the odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. It's like feeling better after you've had a good cry. It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there since I was a little girl. The waves break against the cliffs and churn into foam, and farther out, as far as you can see, there are the white crests, the White Horses of Llyr, they call them; but they're really only waves waiting their turn to roll in."

"Strange," remarked Fflewddur. His eyes were distant in the firelight. "Personally, I was thinking of my own castle. It's small and drafty, but I would like to see it again; a person can have enough wandering, you know. It made me think I might even settle down again and try to be a respectable sort of king."

"Caer Dallben is closer to my heart," Taran said quietly. "When I left, I never gave it too much thought. Now I think of it a great deal."

Gurgi howled then in great misery. "Yes, yes, soon great warriors will all be back in their halls, telling their tales with laughings and chaffings. Then it will be the fearful forest again for poor Gurgi, to put down his tender head in snoozings and snorings."

Eilonwy regarded the creature. She had no home now. She didn't want to go back to her kinsmen, if they were even there at all anymore. But she had had a home once. She had been happy. She wondered if Gurgi had ever been so. She felt sorry for him. The Assistant Pig-Keeper did, too.

"Gurgi, I promise to bring you to Caer Dallben, if I ever get there myself," he said. "And if you like it, and Dallben agrees, you can stay there as long as you want."

"What joy!" Gurgi said. "Honest, toiling Gurgi extends thanks and best wishes. Oh, yes, fond, obedient Gurgi will work hard…"

Taran laughed. "For now, obedient Gurgi had better sleep. And so should we all. Medwyn has put us on our way, and it can't take much longer. We'll start again at daybreak."

He rolled up in his cloak and lay still by the fire. Fflewddur did the same, laying his harp beside him. Gurgi curled up into a ball. But Eilonwy lay still, gazing up at the clouds rolling over the moon like the White Horses of Llyr. She shivered as the wind whistled through the rocks. What would she do, if they survived this errand to Caer Dathyl, and weren't killed by Cauldron-Born or a fall off the cliff-side or the Horned King or a thousand other things? What home would she go to?

Perhaps she would stay there. She was sure there would be something she could do in that great castle to make herself useful. And certainly, Caer Dathyl must be a grand, delightful place, where even the servants were happy and healthy. She looked over at Fflewddur. If he did go back to his tiny kingdom, he might take her, she thought. She could visit his small, drafty castle that he was so fond of, and listen to the wonderful harp Taliesin had given him. But Eilonwy knew deep in her heart that whatever he said now, Fflewddur would not stay in his realm to rule. His heart was good, but wild, like the wolves she had met in Medwyn's valley.

She turned over on the ground and looked at the lump that was Taran of Caer Dallben. If only…if only he would take her, as well as Gurgi, to this Caer Dallben he missed so much. He was slow sometimes, and she still wasn't at all sure he even liked her much, liked her really, but she did like him, whatever she said. She didn't want him to go after all this was over, and to leave her behind. The wind whistled still louder. Eilonwy shivered, but at last she fell asleep.

In the morning she was awakened when the skies broke. It was just as much like swimming as like walking, Eilonwy thought, trembling, as they set out. The rain battered against them and the wind sliced cruelly through her drenched cloak. The rocks were slippery, and the dirt became mud and made their going treacherous. Once, Eilonwy slipped close to the edge of the cliff, and only Fflewddur's firm grip on her arm saved her from tumbling down.

At last the mountains opened up a little. Eilonwy looked down into a valley where a dark lake sat broodingly at the bottom. Taran stopped. "According to what Medwyn told us," he called over the rain, "we should make for that notch, all the way over there." He indicated a break in the hills along the ridge they stood on, around the valley. "But I see no purpose in following the mountains when we can cut almost straight across. The lake shore is flat, at least, while here it's getting practically impossible to climb."

Fflewddur looked thoughtful. "Even counting the time it would take us to go down and come up again, I think we should save several hours," he agreed. "Yes, I definitely believe it's worth trying."

Eilonwy was suddenly put in mind of one time when she had tried to clear a passage that had collapsed down in the tunnels beneath Spiral Castle to get to the kitchen more quickly. The rubble had fallen still more around her, and she had been trapped for hours down there alone. "Medwyn didn't say a word about crossing valleys," she objected.

"He didn't say anything about cliffs like these," Taran replied irritably, hopelessly trying to wring some water out of his jacket while the rain continued to pour. "They seem like nothing to him; he's lived here a long time. For us, it's something else again."

"If you don't listen to what somebody tells you," Eilonwy warned, "it's like putting your fingers in your ears and jumping down a well. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper who's done very little traveling, you suddenly know all about it."

"Who found the way out of the barrow?" Taran came back at her with. "It's decided. We cross the valley."

Eilonwy pursed her lips. It wasn't exactly fair, she thought, bringing that up again. Then, perhaps Assistant Pig-Keepers weren't schooled in fairness. Neither Fflewddur nor Gurgi moved to support her, so she stomped down at the tail end of the group in a high temper. The descent to the bottom of the valley was bad enough. The incline was steep; and more often Eilonwy felt like she was running or falling down it than walking. It wasn't at all pleasant, and it kept raining all the time.

It was even worse when they reached the bottom. The lake at the valley reached all the way to the hills at its shore, so Eilonwy was obliged to follow the others through the dark water itself, stumbling on the sharp rocks at the bottom. At least, she thought bitterly, she was already soaked through and couldn't get any wetter. But when the pull began tugging her to the center of the black, flat water, and turned into a whirlpool, above her fear even, Eilonwy felt a dour satisfaction. She had been right.

When Eilonwy came to herself again, she felt sore all over, and wetter than she'd ever been in her life. Her hair was cold and clammy on her neck, like seaweed. It was dark. The last thing she remembered was the water rushing over her head with a roar. Taran of Caer Dallben had been trying to catch hold of her…

She wasn't in the lake now, though. As far as she could tell, she was in some sort of underground place. There was a noise close by—Fflewddur's harp jangling.

"Hello, who's that?" came the voice of the bard himself from the opposite direction. There was another scramble near her, and a foot hit Eilonwy in the side. Someone fell on her, and he didn't smell like a dog and was about her size so Eilonwy knew who. She shoved the Assistant Pig-Keeper off her in considerable annoyance. Her side ached.

"You've done very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, with all your shortcuts. What's left of me is soaked to the skin, and I can't find my bauble—"she scrambled for it, and found it beside her. "Oh, here it is, all wet, of course. And who knows what's happened to the rest of us?"

Eilonwy lit her bauble, the better to glare at the pale, wet figure beside her. She climbed to her feet.

There was a groan, and Gurgi limped up. "Oh, poor tender head is full of sloshings and washings!" he cried.

The bard followed Gurgi, and Melyngar behind him, bare-backed. Eilonwy was relieved that they all seemed to be fine, if dripping wet. "I thought I heard my harp down here," Fflewddur said. "I couldn't believe it at first. Never expected to see it again. But—a Fflam never despairs! Quite a stroke of luck, though."

Taran had indeed managed to save Fflewddur's harp, Eilonwy saw. And he and Fflewddur still carried their swords. Dyrnwyn, too, was safe. It was pressing a bruise into her back. But everything else was gone. "I never thought I'd see anything again," Taran said. "We've been washed into a cave of some kind; but it's not a natural one. Look at these flagstones."

Eilonwy looked down and suddenly was very nervous. The floor of this underground cave was indeed paved. They weren't just in a cave. They were Someplace, and that whirlpool had been a thing of magic. "If you'd look at Melyngar," she told them, "you'd see all our provisions are gone. All our weapons, too, thanks to your precious shortcut!" She glared with all her might. Being irritated with the Assistant Pig-Keeper was more comfortable than worrying about where they were and what would happen to them.

Unfortunately Taran of Caer Dallben was the sort that confessed mistakes when he made them. It helped to make him a lovely person, but made being irritated with him for any length of time difficult. In the light of her bauble, the Assistant Pig-Keeper's face fell. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I admit we are here through my fault. I should not have followed this path, but what's done is done. I led us here, and I'll find a way out." He turned then, and looked around. Eilonwy drew a little closer to him. It wasn't that she was afraid, exactly, but perhaps he would need the light, if he were going to try to find a way out. If he didn't make a mess of things again.

"This is very curious," Taran said eventually. "We seem to be deep underground, but it isn't the lake bottom-"Eilonwy shifted the light to look, and jumped. A little person had snuck up behind Taran, and had grabbed him! She cried out, but was then seized herself. Strong arms gripped her shoulders, and they were trying to stuff a great filthy bag over her head! She struggled, kicking and scratching. One of the people put a hand over her mouth. She bit the hand and yelled again, slapping at her assailant and trying to move closer to Fflewddur and Taran, who could actually draw their swords. She heard a shriek of metal, and thought that it must be Fflewddur Fflam trying to draw his.

One of their assailants—there somehow seemed to be a great many of them now—grunted in surprised pain. "You fool, you didn't take their swords!" Hands reached for Dyrnwyn. Eilonwy redoubled her efforts, kicking and crying out even louder. Then she realised the people grabbing her didn't actually want to hurt them, because the hands drew back. "All right, let them keep their swords," she heard. "You'll have the blame of it, letting them approach King Eiddileg with weapons!"

Finally, Eilonwy's hands were pinned, and the bag was firmly over her head. She shouldered at her escorts, still alarmed and uneasy, but she supposed that it wouldn't do any good. Ooh! It was all that Assistant Pig-Keeper's fault! No doubt this was why Medwyn hadn't told them to cross this valley. She stewed as she was marched along, clutching her bauble tight. She felt like a dog on a leash! It was a feeling she didn't appreciate in the least.

There were more and more voices as they marched on, like they were going through a city of some sort. Eilonwy turned her head around blindly, wishing she could see something, somehow. Her escorts turned her left and right and sideways. At first, Eilonwy tried to remember the route, hoping that she could escape presently. Then she realised it wouldn't do any good anyway, since she didn't know the place they had started from. Her heart pounded. She was afraid. But her annoyance was still greater than her fear.

At last the bag was snatched from her head and her escorts withdrew. Eilonwy rounded on them and glared. They were little people, armed with axes and small bows and arrows. She was gratified slightly to see them shrink back from her. She'd blacked one little man's eye, it seemed. Taran of Caer Dallben and Fflewddur Fflam were beside her, blinking dazedly. Gurgi had vanished. Eilonwy remembered that the Assistant Pig-Keeper had, before the two of them had come to some sort of understanding, once accused him of cowardice. She couldn't disagree, entirely, now that he was gone, but nor could she blame him. She hadn't wanted to be seized and stuffed into a bag, either.

She stepped a little closer to her companions, and looked around. They appeared to be in some sort of council chamber- like Achren's at Spiral Castle. It was well-lit with dozens of floating, glittering lights. There was a long, low stone table directly in front of them, and at the other end, a brightly dressed little dwarf with a yellow beard was glaring at them. "What's this?" he demanded of their captors. "Who are these people? Didn't I give orders I wasn't to be disturbed?"

"But Majesty," said one of their assailants from beside Fflewddur Fflam, "We caught them…"

"Must you bother me with details?" the little man shouted from the end of the table. He seemed to be in charge. Eilonwy guessed he was the King Eiddileg the little people had spoken of. "You'll ruin me! You'll be the death of me! Out! Out!" Eilonwy's captor took her arm and began bustling her away, but King Eiddileg stamped his foot. "No, not the prisoners, you idiots!" The tiny king gave a great, much put-upon sigh and collapsed onto a throne. The companions' assailants ran away like little mice. Eilonwy, Taran, and Fflewddur were left alone with King Eiddileg. "Now, then, out with it," he said. "What do you want? You might as well know ahead of time, you shan't have it."

"Sire," Taran of Caer Dallben said after a short, awkward pause, "We ask no more than safe passage through your realm. The four of us…"

"There's only three of you," King Eiddileg interrupted rudely, "Can't you count?"

"One of my companions is missing," Taran told him. "I beg your servants to help us find him. Then, too, our provisions and weapons have been lost…"

"That's clotted nonsense!" cried the king, interrupting again. "Don't lie to me, I can't stand it. Why did you come here?" He pulled out a handkerchief then and began mopping his forehead, and Eilonwy immediately felt that this blustering little monarch, cranky though he may be, was not a danger to them.

"Because an Assistant Pig-Keeper led us on a wild-goose chase," she told King Eiddileg, flicking her hair at Taran. "We don't even know where we are, let alone why. It's worse than rolling downhill in the dark."

"Naturally. You have no idea you're in the very heart of the Kingdom of Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk, the Happy Family, the Little People, or whatever other insipid, irritating names you've put on us. Oh, no, of course not. You just happened to be passing by," King Eiddileg said with frightful sarcasm.

Eilonwy looked around, fascinated. So this was the land of the fairies? She looked again at King Eiddileg. He was much…grouchier…than she'd ever thought one of the Fair Folk would be. Than they were ever portrayed as in the stories. He was really being very rude.

Taran of Caer Dallben thought so, too. "We were caught in the lake," he objected. "It pulled us down."

"Good, eh?" the king said, looking faintly pleased for a moment. "I've added some improvements of my own, of course."

"If you're so anxious to keep visitors away you should have something better—"Eilonwy told him. "To make people stay out."

"When people get this close they're already too close," Eiddileg answered her. "At that point I don't want them out. I want them in."

"I always understood the Fair Folk were all over Prydain," Fflewddur objected. "Not just here."

"Of course, not just here," Eiddileg snapped. "This is the royal seat. Why, we have tunnels and mines every place you can imagine. But the real work, the real labor of organisation is here, right here, in this very spot—in this very throne room. On my shoulders! It's too much, I tell you, too much. But who else can you trust? If you want something done right…" he stopped then, glaring at Fflewddur as if the bard had bribed him with a sweet or something. "That's not your affair. You're in trouble enough as it is. It can't be overlooked," he told them.

Eilonwy crossed her arms, tossed her hair and glared. "I don't see any work being done," she told the tiny king.

Just then the door burst open, and there was a massive hullabaloo. Creatures of all shapes, sizes and descriptions flooded the throne room and all began shouting at King Eiddileg at once. It was like a dam bursting, or like a conference of gophers. Eilonwy had never seen a gopher, but she had read about them in the travel books in Achren's library. She imagined the social little things might quarrel something like the Fair Folk before her. She looked them over critically. A few of them looked a little like fairies, but many of them were stout little dwarves like Eiddileg, or tall thin people that put Eilonwy in mind of tree branches, or strange scaly persons that looked…well…a bit creepy. But they all were quarrelsome in the extreme. Really, and Fflewddur Fflam and that Assistant Pig-Keeper said she had a sharp tongue!

Eilonwy watched the proceedings with some interest until, with much shouting, huffing, and puffing, King Eiddileg finally managed to clear his throne room again. He glared at Eilonwy as though they had never been interrupted. He then proceeded to give Eilonwy a very longwinded, irate lecture on exactly everything he had to deal with and why humans should be grateful to the "Fair" Folk. Eilonwy lost track of his arguments right after he started talking about Lake Sprites. She failed to see the relevance. But living with Achren for years had taught her to keep her expression polite, so Eilonwy fixed her eyes on the little king's face, as it reddened through rose and crimson and all the way until it resembled nothing so much as a boiled beet. Indeed, Eilonwy was starting to think Eiddileg might rush at them in rage, when a strain of the loveliest music she had ever heard in her life drifted into the throne room.

The notes soared like butterflies, or…or swans…or eagles, even. Something beautiful. Taran's mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes grew bright. Beside him, Fflewddur Fflam was flushed and radiant. He quivered all over, and his yellow hair stood even more on end, but the gawky bard looked somehow handsomer than he ever had before. King Eiddileg himself grew quiet. As the voices died down at last, Eilonwy thought she saw one corner of the King's mouth turn up a little, and he sat back in his throne.

"That's something to be thankful for," he muttered, but without vim. "The Children of Evening have evidently got together again. Not as good as you might want, but they'll manage somehow."

Eilonwy recalled vaguely that the squabbles of the Children of Evening were one of the travails Eiddileg had mentioned in his rant about his responsibilities.

"I have not heard the songs of the Fair Folk until now," Taran spoke up. "I had never realised how lovely they were."

"Don't try to flatter me!" cried the king, flushing with pleasure all the same.

Fflewddur Fflam, still beaming, was at his harp, trying to duplicate the melody they had just heard.

Eilonwy supposed someone should cut at once to the heart of the matter. Eiddileg had after all, not taken their weapons or ordered them imprisoned or tortured or killed yet, so she thought that there might yet be something to be gained here. "What surprises me is why you go to so much trouble," she said. "If you Fair Folk dislike all of us above ground, why do you bother?"

"Professional pride, my dear girl," said Eiddileg, bowing. "When we Fair Folk do something, we do it right. Oh, yes, never mind the sacrifices we make. It's a task that needs doing, and so we do it. Never mind the cost. For myself, it doesn't matter. I've lost sleep, I've lost weight, but that's not important…"

Eilonwy decided she liked the blustering little man. He complained a lot, but she didn't think that deep down he was very bad. She curtsied back at him. "Well, I appreciate it," she told him. "I think it's amazing what you've been able to do. You must be extremely clever, and any Assistant Pig-Keepers who happen to be in this throne room might do well to pay attention."

Beside her, Taran rolled his eyes, but neither Eilonwy nor Eiddileg marked him a bit. Eiddileg smiled at her. "Thank you, dear girl. I see you're the sort of person one can talk to intelligently. It's unheard of for one of you big shambling louts to have any kind of insight into these matters. But you at least seem to understand the problems we face."

"Sire," Taran put in, out of patience. "We understand your time is precious. Let us disturb you no more. Give us safe conduct to Caer Dathyl."

"What?" cried the King. "Leave here? Impossible! Unheard of! Once you're with the Fair Folk, my good lad, you stay, and no mistake about it. Oh, I suppose I could stretch a point, for the sake of the young lady, and let you off easily. Only put you to sleep for fifty years, or turn you all into bats; but that would be a pure favor, mind you."

"Our task is too urgent!" Taran said. "Even now we have delayed too long."

King Eiddileg shrugged. "That's your concern, not mine." Eilonwy changed her mind. Maybe she didn't like the dwarf ruler so much after all.

"Then we shall make our own way!" Taran declared, drawing his sword. Beside him, Fflewddur drew, too, and Eilonwy wondered about that for half a second. Couldn't Fflewddur see that it would be much better to reason with Eiddileg? She couldn't hope that the Assistant Pig-Keeper would show that much sense, but Fflewddur should know better.

"More clotted nonsense," King Eiddileg said, waving a hand at Taran and the bard. "There! And there! Now you might try to move your arms." He looked at them.

Taran and Fflewddur's faces broke out into a sweat, but neither of them moved so much as a muscle. Eilonwy realised, with a new respect and fear for the fairy monarch, that he had paralyzed them.

"Put your swords away and let's talk this over calmly," said Eiddileg after a moment. "If you give me any decent reason why I should let you go, I might think it over and answer you promptly, say in a year or two."

He gestured again, and ruefully, the Assistant Pig-Keeper and the wandering monarch of the north sheathed their weapons. Taran sighed, then, slowly, he explained to Eiddileg what had happened to them, and what their mission was.

At the mention of Arawn, Eilonwy felt something in the King shift, but when Taran had done at last, he shook his head nonetheless. "This is a conflict you great gawks must attend to yourselves. The Fair Folk owe you no allegiance. Prydain belonged to us before the race of men came. You drove us underground. You plundered our mines, you blundering clodpoles! You stole our treasures, and you keep on stealing them, you clumsy oafs…"

Taran cut Eiddileg off again. "Sire, I can speak for no man but myself," he said. "I have never robbed you and I have no wish to. My task means more to me than your treasures. If there is ill will between the Fair Folk and the race of men, then it is a matter to be settled between them. But if the Horned King triumphs, if the shadow of Annuvin falls on the land above you, Arawn's hand will reach your deepest caverns."

Eilonwy felt queer all over. She looked over at Taran, but no, it was he who had spoken. He hadn't changed into someone else in the last minute or so. He kept surprising her like that. She'd have convinced herself at last that he was only an idiot and always had been, and then he'd come out with something that made him sound like a great king and war leader. It was lovely, really.

Eiddileg, too, was impressed. He softened a bit. "For an Assistant Pig-Keeper, you're reasonably eloquent," he told Taran. "But the Fair Folk will worry about Arawn when the time comes."

Taran shook his head. "The time has come," he insisted. "I only hope it has not passed."

Eilonwy looked hard at King Eiddileg. Couldn't he see what was at stake? Couldn't he hear the wisdom Taran was speaking (unlikely as it was coming from an Assistant Pig-Keeper)? She was suddenly angry, and the anger gave her a bit of a plan. "I don't think you really know what's going on above ground," she declared. "You talk about charm and beauty and sacrificing yourself to make things pleasant for people. I don't believe you care a bit for that. You're too conceited and stubborn and selfish…"

"Conceited!" yelled Eiddileg, turning the color of a root again. "Selfish! You won't find anyone more openhearted and generous. How dare you say that? What do you want, my life's blood?" He tore off his cloak and rings, tossing them about the room wildly. "Go ahead! Take it all! Leave me ruined! What else do you want—my whole kingdom? Do you want to leave? Go, by all means. The sooner the better! Stubborn? I'm too soft! It will be the death of me! But little you care!"

Then the throne room doors burst open again, and Eilonwy was really delighted to see Gurgi run in, eyes bright. Two dwarf guards had tried to detain him, but he dragged them about like they weighed nothing at all. "Joyous greetings!" he shouted. "Faithful Gurgi is back with mighty heroes! This time valiant Gurgi did not run! Oh, no, no! Brave Gurgi fought with great whackings and smackings. He triumphed! But then, mighty lords are carried away. Clever Gurgi goes seeking and peeking to save them, yes! And he finds them!

"But that is not all. Oh, faithful, honest, fearless Gurgi finds more! Surprises and delights, oh, joy!" He began dancing around, clapping his hands. The dizzy guards dropped off him, clutching their heads. "Mighty warriors go to seek a piggy! It is clever, wise Gurgi who finds her!"

Eilonwy looked to Taran. His face had gone still, but she could see him quivering with excitement. "Hen Wen? Where is she?" he demanded.

"Here, mighty lord, the piggy is here!" cried Gurgi.

Taran rounded on King Eiddileg then. Because of course he had explained that their quest had started off as looking to preserve the oracular pig he kept from the Horned King. "You said nothing of Hen Wen!" he accused.

"You didn't ask me."

"That's sharp practice," Fflewddur said, frowning. "Even for a king."

"It's worse than a lie," Taran agreed. "You'd have let us go our way, and we'd never have known what happened to her."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Eilonwy said on behalf of her friend. "It's like looking the other way when someone's about to walk into a hole."

Eiddileg did look a little ashamed of himself, but he snapped, "Finders keepers. A troop of the Fair Folk came on her near the Avren banks. She was running through a ravine. And I'll tell you something you don't know. Half-a-dozen warriors were after her, the henchmen of the Horned King. The troop took care of those warriors—we have our own ways of dealing with you clumsy lummoxes—and they brought your pig here, underground most of the way."

"No wonder Gwydion could find no tracks," muttered Taran.

"The Fair Folk rescued her," Eiddileg said. "And there's another fine example. Do I get a word of thanks? Naturally not. But I do get called disagreeable names and have nasty thoughts thrown at me. Oh, I can see it in your faces. Eiddileg is a thief and a wretch—that's what you're saying to yourselves. Well, just for that you shan't have her back. And you'll stay here, all of you, until I feel like letting you go."

Eilonwy gasped. "If you do that, you are a thief and a wretch!" she cried. "You gave me your word. The Fair Folk don't go back on their word."

"There was no mention of a pig, no mention at all," Eiddileg said.

Taran had gone still. "No," he said quietly. "There was not. But there is a question of honesty and honor."

That did it. Eiddileg sat back, and mopped his brow with his orange handkerchief. "Honor. Yes. I was afraid you'd come to that. True, the Fair Folk never break their word. Well, that's the price for being openhearted and generous. So be it. You shall have your pig."

"We shall need weapons to replace those we lost," Taran said, seeing that they had won.

"What?" screamed the King. "Are you trying to ruin me?"

"And crunchings and munchings," Gurgi put in.

"Provisions as well," Taran agreed.

"This is going too far!" Eiddileg roared. "You're bleeding me to death! Weapons! Food! Pigs!"

"And we beg for a guide who will show us the way to Caer Dathyl," Taran finished, unperturbed.

Eilonwy marveled at the incoherent explosion that followed. Eiddileg roared and blustered and moaned, but for all that, she didn't believe he was really as angry as all that. Not really. Finally, Eiddileg nodded. "I shall lend you Doli. He is the only one I can spare." He called over the guards that had come in with Gurgi, and gave them a few brusque orders.

"Off with you now," he said then to the companions. "Before I change my mind."

Eilonwy grinned at him. She walked up to the throne, bent over, and kissed his little sweaty head. "Thank you," she murmured. "You're a perfectly lovely king."

"Out! Out!" Eiddileg shouted. But Eilonwy looked back over her shoulder as she hurried after Gurgi, and saw that he was beaming again.

The journey through the halls of the Fair Folk was much more pleasant without a great stinking bag over her head, Eilonwy reflected. The guards led them through wide streets domed with a multitude of gems that sparkled like stars. There were large, still lakes. It was an altogether beautiful place.

Fflewddur Fflam thought so, too. He murmured to them after several minutes, "I've been thinking that it might be wiser to leave Hen Wen here, until we can return for her."

Eilonwy almost agreed with him. It would be much safer for the oracular pig here in these fair passages than up above with the Horned King and his henchmen and Arawn's Cauldron Born and whatnot in between them and Caer Dathyl, as seemed likely after all the delay the Assistant Pig-Keeper's 'shortcut' had caused them. But Taran shook his head ruefully.

"I thought of that, too," he admitted. "It's not that I don't trust Eiddileg to keep his word—most of the time. But I'm not sure we should take another chance in that lake, and I doubt we could find another way into his kingdom. He certainly won't make it easy for us to come back, I'm afraid. No, we must take Hen Wen while we have the chance. Once she's with me again, I won't let her out of my sight."

This was sound enough, Eilonwy thought a trifle reluctantly. The pig might slow them down, even a magical oracular pig. Just then a great snorting arose from a nearby dwarf-cottage. Taran's eyes lit up, and he ran to the pen behind it.

Eilonwy followed him. A nicely rounded, brilliantly white pig was pushing at the rails of the pigsty with her front feet, sending up a fine uproar of grunting and squealing. She was obviously ecstatic to see Taran of Caer Dallben again. One of their escorts opened the gate to her pen and she ran out to Taran.

In the next moment, Eilonwy liked Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper more than she ever had before, and she already liked him an awful lot, despite his periodic idiocy. He knelt on the ground beside his pig, face flushed with joy, and threw his arms around her. "Oh, Hen! Even Medwyn thought you were dead!" he cried.

Eilonwy couldn't make out what Hen Wen said in reply. She didn't speak Pig. But it was obviously a greeting just as joyful as Taran's. Eilonwy thought she must love Taran very much, and she had been very badly frightened. Eilonwy went to Taran's side and scratched Hen Wen's ears. "She looks like a wonderful pig," Eilonwy told him. "It's always nice to see two friends meet again. It's like waking up with the sun shining."

"She's certainly a great deal of pig," Fflewddur said. "Though very handsome, I must say."

"And clever, noble, brave, wise Gurgi found her!" Gurgi put in.

"Have no fear," Taran said, standing. "There's no chance we'll forget it."

He nodded to the guards that he was ready to go on again. Hen Wen followed them happily, like the dogs had followed the guards and cook at Spiral Castle. Eilonwy was somewhat surprised to see that she moved quickly despite her bulk. Then she scolded herself. Of course she would move quickly, she thought. She'd gotten away from Taran in the first place, hadn't she? And Lord Gwydion, too.

The guard led them across a large open cavern, to where another dwarf waited. This one was leather clad, with sturdy boots and flaming red hair that his cap did not entirely conceal. But his scowl—it was like looking into a thundercloud, Eilonwy thought. She was apprehensive, but not surprised, when the guard announced that this was the Doli that would guide them to Caer Dathyl. Taran bowed to him—quite well for an Assistant Pig-Keeper, Eilonwy thought, but the dwarf only snorted rudely in answer. Then, he took in a deep breath and held it.

His face turned red, as red as King Eiddileg in one of his rages, but still he did not breathe in again. Eilonwy wondered if there weren't something very wrong with him. Finally, he breathed in and snorted again.

"What's the trouble?" Taran inquired, concerned.

"You can still see me, can't you?" Doli snapped.

"Of course, I can still see you. Why shouldn't I?"

Doli glared. Eilonwy wondered what he was about. But just then there was a familiar whinny from behind them. She turned in some relief to see Melyngar come up, led by two of Eiddileg's men. She'd been groomed, and her saddle had been fixed. The saddlebags were full to bursting with provisions, and she also bore a number of weapons. Eilonwy silently blessed the little King of the Fair Folk again. Then Doli was walking out ahead of them, and the guard had left.

Without much ado, they were off again. Doli led them to the base of a long, steep stairway winding up the face of a sheer cliff. The path was steeper and more difficult than any they had traversed yet. Even Eilonwy, accustomed as she was to winding underground passages, had trouble. Sure-footed Melyngar stumbled. As for poor Hen-Wen, she continued on doggedly after them, but she was heaving great gasps and grunts that made it very clear that she was having more trouble than any of them. Doli alone scaled the steps without shortness of breath or a drop of sweat.

At last, at last, the steps ended and they climbed a narrow pathway. The realm of the Fair Folk fell behind them and out of sight. The passage was dark, but it was dry, and the stones underfoot were firm. Then, nearly exhausted, Doli led them to a waterfall. They were behind it, and he jumped through. Fflewddur followed, then Gurgi, then Taran. After him went Hen Wen. Eilonwy clutched Melyngar's bridle. She breathed in, then led the horse through the falls. There was a moment where she feared she might be crushed beneath the cold water like a bug beneath a boot, but then she and the horse both were through, and they had splashed out of a stream and into the failing light of evening.

Doli looked up. "Not much daylight left," he growled. "Don't think I'm going to walk my legs off all night, either," he said more loudly, addressing himself now to Taran. "Didn't ask for this work, you know. Got picked for it. Guiding a crew of—of what! An Assistant Pig-Keeper. A yellow-headed idiot with a harp. A girl with a sword. A shaggy what-is-it. Not to mention the livestock. All you can hope for is that you don't run into a real war band. They'd do for you, they would. There's not one of you looks as if he could handle a blade. Humph!"

He lapsed into furious silence again, and when Taran tried to be polite and talk to him, he started holding his breath again.

"For goodness sake!" Eilonwy snapped. "I wish you'd stop that. It makes me feel as if I'd drunk too much water, just watching you."

"It still doesn't work," was Doli's only remark.

"Whatever are you trying to do?" Taran said, stepping towards the dwarf with concern again.

Doli merely walked on. "What does it look like?" he said savagely. "I'm trying to make myself invisible."

"That's an odd thing to attempt," ventured the bard.

"I'm supposed to be invisible," Doli called back over his shoulder. "My whole family can do it. Just like that! Like blowing out a candle. But not me. No wonder they all laugh at me. No wonder Eiddileg sends me out with a pack of fools. If there's anything nasty or disagreeable to be done, it's always, 'find good old Doli'. If there's gems to be cut or blades to be decorated or arrows to be footed—that's the job for good old Doli!" He held his breath again.

His face was turning blue when Fflewddur spoke up, "I think you're getting it now. I can't see you at all!" It was kindly meant, but the harp belied his words. A string snapped, and Eilonwy restrained a smile. At least Doli breathed again. "Blast the thing," Fflewddur said angrily. "I knew I was exaggerating somewhat; I only did it to make him feel better. He actually did seem to be fading a bit around the edges."

"If I could carve gems and do all those other things," Taran said, making his own attempt to cheer the sour dwarf, "I wouldn't mind not being invisible. All I know is vegetables and horseshoes, and not too much about either."

"It's silly to worry because you can't do something you simply can't do," Eilonwy agreed. "That's worse than trying to make yourself taller by standing on your head."

The dwarf only grunted, and Eilonwy gave up trying to be nice to him. She looked around instead, and realised with some surprise that they had descended from the high mountains to the foothills in the west. She hadn't seen how they'd gotten here, but they had covered a lot of ground. Doli was an excellent guide, for all his grumbling and sullenness.

They made camp not too long after. Gurgi built the fire (the Assistant Pig-Keeper had taught him how two or three days before), and distributed the provisions. When he didn't hold any back for himself, but shared out the food equally, Eilonwy thought. She didn't really think that Taran of Caer Dallben realised how much he had done for the creature. She had first noticed it back in the halls of King Eiddileg, when she had found that he hadn't run after all, and that he had been so happy to find Hen Wen and hadn't asked for any reward but to be recognised by Taran. She thought, watching him dance about giving food to everyone happily, that he had been alone for far too long. It must be difficult, she thought, being not quite human and not quite creature. Taran of Caer Dallben, merely by accepting him finally and offering him friendship and a place, had made him better, somehow. Already she thought Gurgi was a little braver, a little wiser, and a much, much nicer than he had been when he had first found them after Spiral Castle had fallen.

As they lay down about Gurgi's fire, Eilonwy thought that Taran of Caer Dallben did that for almost everyone. At least, as far as she had seen, he did. He was perfectly imbecilic sometimes, like a dog with no nose, but he did have something about him. It had made Eilonwy want to defy Achren and leave Spiral Castle with him to go on some harebrained quest to save Prydain. It had made Fflewddur Fflam, the flighty fraud of a bard and the runaway king, agree to defer to a child of an Assistant Pig-Keeper in the name of Lord Gwydion. Eilonwy had seen that much in Eiddileg's halls, too. Caer Dathyl or no Caer Dathyl, the bard was prepared to fight and die beside an Assistant Pig-Keeper, and at his command. Taran of Caer Dallben had something about him that made Hen Wen even now press as close to him as she could get, snoring happily on his cloak.

The Assistant Pig-Keeper might be hotheaded and rash. He definitely was foolish at times. But he was good, Eilonwy thought. Good like the first spring rain after winter or the sun on a summer morning. He…he spoke to people on their level and reminded them of love and honor and gave them a purpose and a place. She wondered if he would do so for her.

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**A/N: This is another chapter I don't like so much. Eiddileg has a tendency to go on, but not a lot of the throne room scene is really excludable if a reader is to keep up with what's going on and how the characters are relating to one another. Eilonwy's cooperation with Taran is the thing here, but also Fflewddur's backing of Taran in a seemingly hopeless position. More about that in about three chapters. **

**But Coming 1/29: Fflewddur tries to keep the balance between function and feeling as Doli races to get them to Caer Dathyl in time, but he cannot in good conscience dispute Taran's championing of a gwythaint, in the **_**Finding of Monsters and the Losing of Pigs**_**. **

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp **


	9. Something Found, Something Lost

**Disclaimer: Insert standard nugatory here.**

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The Finding of Monsters, and the Losing of Pigs

FFLEWDDUR FFLAM

For all good old Doli of the Fair Folk was entirely too preoccupied with turning himself invisible, he was a blasted good guide, Fflewddur thought. He'd never admit it to Taran and the lass, but the dwarf was much better than he was, Fflam though he was. They were out of the Eagle Mountains and headed for Caer Dathyl. They were passing through the pine forests and heading west. If they but turned north, they'd get to his own little, damp castle in a week.

To his surprise, the pig hadn't slowed them much at all. She followed Taran happily, and at the pace he set. Fflewddur hadn't ever seen a pig to beat her. She followed the boy like a dog. Now that they had her, Taran's thoughts had turned again to Lord Gwydion, and what he had sought to learn from her in the first place. He was of the opinion that whatever information she had must be of vital importance, but he was at a loss of how to discover it before they reached Caer Dathyl without letter sticks.

Eilonwy offered a possible solution. "I could try a new spell. Achren taught me some others, but I don't know if they'd be any use. They haven't anything to do with oracular pigs. I do know a wonderful one for summoning toads. Achren was about to teach me the spell for opening locks, but I don't suppose I'll ever learn it now. Even so, locks haven't much to do with pigs, either."

Nevertheless, she knelt before Hen Wen and tried her spell. Fflewddur knew from the start it wouldn't be any good. The vacant expression on Hen Wen's pudgy face didn't look ensorcelled in the least. And after a moment, she ran away from the girl and straight up to Taran again.

Taran sighed, and scratched her chin. "It's no use," he told Eilonwy. "And there's no sense in losing time. I hope they have letter sticks in Caer Dathyl. Though I doubt it. Whatever Dallben has, it seems to be the only one of its kind in all Prydain."

He nodded to Doli to take up the march again, but it didn't last long. There was a screaming from a nearby thorn bush. Taran hurried over, face creased in concern. He peered down into the bush, and then stopped. He went very still.

Fflewddur came up behind him, drawing his sword as Taran had before. He looked down into the bush, and whistled. It was a gwythaint. This one was young, about the size of a crow, or maybe a little bigger, and hurt. One of its wings was crumpled strangely, and its eyes were dull.

"It's a stroke of luck the parents aren't about," Fflewddur said, scanning the skies nervously. "Those creatures will tear a man to shreds if their young are in danger."

"It reminds me of Achren," Eilonwy remarked. "Especially around the eyes, on days when she was in a bad temper."

Doli pulled his axe from his belt and strode forward. Taran turned to face the dwarf. "What are you going to do?"

"Going to do? Do you have any other stupid questions?" Doli demanded. "You can't imagine I'd let it sit there, can you? I'm going to chop off its head, to begin with."

Taran grabbed Doli's arm. "No!" he cried. "It's badly hurt."

"That's true," Eilonwy said. "It doesn't look comfortable at all. For the matter of that, it looks even worse than Achren."

Doli threw down his axe and glared at Taran. "I can't make myself invisible but at least I'm no fool," he said in an irate tone. "Go ahead. Pick up the vicious little thing. Give it a drink. Pat its head. Then you'll see what happens. As soon as it's got strength enough, the first thing it'll do is slice you to bits. And next thing, fly straight to Arawn. Then we'll be in a fine stew."

Taran was looking stubborn, so Fflewddur decided to speak up. "What Doli says is true," he said. "I myself don't enjoy chopping things up—the bird is interesting, in a disagreeable sort of way. But we've been lucky so far, with no trouble from gwythaints, at least. I don't see the use of bringing one of Arawn's spies right into our bosom, as you might say. A Fflam is always kind-hearted, but it seems to me this is overdoing it."

Taran folded his arms. "Medwyn would not say so," he declared. "In the hills, he spoke of kindness for all creatures; and he told me much about the gwythaints. I think it's important to bring this one to Caer Dathyl. No one has ever captured a live gwythaint, as far as I know. Who can tell what value it may have?"

Fflewddur had to concede the point. "Well, yes, I suppose if it had any use at all, it would be better alive than dead. But the proposition is risky, no matter what."

But he knew how matters would go. Fflewddur thought he had the measure of the man now, so to speak. If you could call Taran a man. It was pushing it to do so. But still, Fflewddur had got to know him rather well on their adventures, he felt. Taran was a brave, sturdy lad, with brains in his head and brawns in his arms. He was a trifle hotheaded, true. And he was much, much too serious for a lad of fourteen. Probably down to growing up with Dallben the Enchanter, the most cryptic old man in all Prydain. But for all his temper and gravity, Fflewddur thought Taran had to be the most goodhearted, compassionate lad it had been his pleasure to meet in a lifetime. And now it seemed this goodness of heart was going to divert them from their mission, at least for a time.

He rescued the little monster from the thorn bush and ordered a fire to be built. He needed hot water, he said, to make a poultice from herbs he would find in the forest for the monster's wounds. He set out accordingly to find them.

Doli, furious, yelled after him. "How long are we going to stay here? Not that I care. You're the ones in a hurry, not I. Humph!"

Fflewddur sighed as the dwarf held his breath again. The little dwarf struck him as very much like his king. He blustered and raved and grumbled, but Fflewddur wasn't sure how much of it he really meant. And for sure and certain he was a fine guide and a dependable dwarf. And perhaps he had had it hard. Fflewddur knew he wouldn't like it if his entire family could do something he couldn't. Great Belin, he hadn't liked it in Caer Dathyl when he'd failed the examinations, had he?

He clapped the dwarf on the shoulder. "Never mind, old boy," he said. "Taran will be back before long, and we'll figure out some way to be off again. He seems to like these impossible quests, you see. I'm learning to just go with it. He's not a bad sort."

Doli snorted, but stopped holding his breath. "Mad idiots, the lot of you," he muttered. "Waste of time…"

"Maybe so," Eilonwy said from where she was making the gwythaint comfortable. "Several times I have wondered if warning Caer Dathyl isn't like trying to catch the wind in a bag. Trying to heal the gwythaint may be much the same. But it's the right thing to try to do anyway. For my part, I'd rather try and fail to do something brave and good than only ever be sensible and successful."

"Just so, just so!" agreed Fflewddur.

"Humph!" said Doli. But he looked thoughtful, all the same.

Taran was back before long. And deftly he applied his poultice to the monster and fed it medicine he brewed up. He handled it, Fflewddur saw, just as if it had been an ordinary hawk or tame crow, fearlessly and with care. Doli, despite himself, it seemed, was interested.

"That's all very well," he grunted by and by, "But how do you imagine you'll carry the nasty thing—perched on your shoulder?"

"I don't know," Taran said. "I thought I could wrap it in my cloak."

"That's the trouble with you great clodhoppers," Doli said. "You don't see beyond your noses. But if you expect me to build a cage for you, you're mistaken."

"A cage would be just the thing," Taran said, smiling. "No, I wouldn't want to bother you with that. I'll try to make one myself."

And he did. But he didn't get far before Doli stopped him, furiously. "Oh, stop it!" he cried, tearing apart Taran's clumsily woven tree branches. "I can't stand looking at botched work. Here, get out of the way."

His deft fingers braided vines and wove the branches almost too fast for Fflewddur's eyes to follow. A sturdy cage seemed to shape itself almost from the air. Fflewddur whistled admiringly. Eilonwy smiled at Doli. "That's certainly more practical than making yourself invisible," she told him. Doli glared at her, while Taran put his pet monster in the new cage.

They set out again, faster this time. Doli may have said that he didn't care if they arrived to Caer Dathyl in time, but his actions said differently. He obviously understood the importance of their quest. Fflewddur remembered, stretching his long legs to keep up with the dwarf, that the dwarf monarch, King Eiddileg, was no friend at all to Arawn, and no doubt wished the death-lord's dark purpose defeated as much as they did themselves.

At each rest, Taran cared for the gwythaint. Once Fflewddur tried to pat it—he hadn't lied when he called it interesting, as an unbroken harp string attested. But the thing cried out and snapped at him. He withdrew his hand hastily, crying out.

"I warn you," Doli said to Taran again, "No good will come of this. But don't pay any attention to what I say. Go right ahead. Cut your own throats. Then come running and complaining afterward. I'm just a guide; I do what I'm ordered to, and that's all."

But Taran continued to care for the bird, and it recovered with magical speed. Well, it was spawned in Annuvin, Fflewddur thought. By the time they made camp, Eilonwy had come to some understanding with the bird. She fed it, and Taran could pet its head without fear of savaging. But Fflewddur's gestures of friendship were repeatedly met with shrieks and the slashing of talons.

"It knows perfectly well you'd have agreed to chop off its head," Eilonwy told him, a bit smugly, Fflewddur thought, as he nursed a scratched hand. "So you can't blame the poor thing for being annoyed at you. If somebody wanted to chop of my head, then came around afterward and wanted to be sociable, I'd peck at them too."

"Gwydion told me the birds are trained when young," Taran said contemplatively. "I wish he were here. He would know best how to handle the creature. Perhaps it could be taught differently. But there's bound to be a good falconer at Caer Dathyl, and we'll see what he can do."

He spoke with a sort of wistful fondness. And that just made it worse the next morning when Doli woke them with a cry. He thrust his ruined cage at Taran, shouting. "And there you have it! I told you so! Don't say I didn't warn you. The treacherous creature's halfway to Annuvin by now, after listening to every word w said. If Arawn didn't know where we were, he'll know soon enough. You've done well; oh, very well. Spare me from fools and Assistant Pig-Keepers!"

Taran's face went pale and pinched, and Fflewddur wanted at first to defend him. But he couldn't speak out. He thought all Doli said was most likely very true. Gwythaints were monsters now, whatever they had been before Arawn corrupted them. The speed of the bird's recovery had been unnatural, and he was disappointed, but not surprised at this turn of events.

Taran looked to him for encouragement, and when he got none, kicked at the ground angrily. "I've done the wrong thing again, as usual," he cried. "Doli is right. There's no difference between a fool and an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"That's probably true," Eilonwy said. But then she glared at Doli. "But I can't stand people who say 'I told you so'. That's worse than somebody coming up and eating your dinner before you have a chance to sit down."

Doli grunted and stumped away. And Eilonwy added, "Even so, Doli means well. He's not half as disagreeable as he pretends to be, and I'm sure he's worried about us. He's like a porcupine, all prickly on the outside, but very ticklish once you turn him over. If he'd only stop trying to make himself invisible, I think it should do a lot to improve his disposition."

She put a tentative hand on Taran's shoulder and squeezed, then hurried after Doli, who had started off even faster, in case of pursuit that might be coming now the gwythaint had escaped.

They had lost too much time, Fflewddur thought, as they marched onward. Matters were grave and danger was near at hand and all that. The sky darkened, and a wind arose. Hen Wen, before so happy, now grew anxious and halting. Even mighty Melyngar was uneasy. Her eyes rolled and she whinnied nervously. Doli at last called a halt, and went forward to scout out the land. And when he returned, his face told Fflewddur all he needed to know.

The dwarf led the companions to the ridge of a hill, gesturing them to move slowly and silently. They looked down into the valley of the Ystrad, and Fflewddur, Fflam that he was, had to admit the sight made him quake in his boots a little. The plain was black with men and horses under black banners. The sound of their feet carried up to the hill like the boom-boom-boom of a monotone drum of doom. Ooh, Fflewddur thought, that was quite good. He might use that—supposing they ever got out of this mess—to write about the struggles they had faced. At the head of the marching columns rode the Horned King.

He was a more terrific person than Fflewddur had imagined, with the antlers rising up out of his skull mask and his naked torso dyed red as blood. He cut a barbaric, strong, and utterly pitiless figure. And he did not march alone. With him he carried the doom of Annuvin.

"They have overtaken us," Taran said in a small, colourless voice. Fflewddur looked, and beside him the boy looked pale and very, very young. He hadn't exaggerated the peril in which Caer Dathyl lay, and Fflewddur felt a surge of pity for the Assistant Pig-Keeper, so far from home and caught up in this mess.

Doli forced them away. "Hurry. Get hustling, instead of dawdling and moaning. We're no more than a day away from Caer Dathyl and so are they. We can still move faster," he told them. "If you hadn't stopped for that ungrateful spy of Annuvin, we'd be well ahead of them by now. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He was of course, quite correct, but Taran's face twisted at the dwarf's words, and Fflewddur wished Doli would let the matter of the gwythaint rest. "We should arm ourselves a little better," he said. "The Horned King will have outriders on both sides of the valley."

Taran wordlessly shared out the weapons and shields King Eiddileg had equipped them with. They were well-made, the best made Fflewddur had seen. But he couldn't help thinking that they were…well, a little small for him, and even for Taran and Eilonwy. He wondered if people of their size could wield the weapons as well as Doli could. But it couldn't be helped, so he didn't say anything about it. He was grim. Not a song, not a joke suggested itself to him, and he was very afraid for the children. Taran looked like he was about to be sick, and even the brave Eilonwy was grave.

Gurgi alone, oddly enough, looked joyful. "Yes, yes!" he cried, hoisting his sword aloft. "Now bold, valiant Gurgi is a mighty warrior, too. He has a grinding gasher and a pointed piercer! He is ready for great fightings and smitings!"

Fflewddur found himself cheered by the creature's optimism. "And so am I," he said in a loud voice. "Nothing withstands the onslaught of an angry Fflam!"

Doli stamped his feet and waved his arms around. "Stop jabbering and move!"

Move they did, but Taran was starting to have trouble with Hen Wen. As they moved on, more rapidly than they had ever gone yet, she began to lag behind. Taran, too, fell back, trying to urge her on with kind words and reassuring pats. But the oracular pig only trembled all the more.

At the first halt Doli addressed him about it. "Keep on like this and you'll have no chance at all," he told the boy. "First a gwythaint delays us, now a pig!"

"She's frightened," Taran protested. "She knows the Horned King is near."

"Then tie her up," Doli snapped. "Put her on the horse."

Taran agreed, and Fflewddur looked around for the pig to aid him, but in the few minutes they'd been stopped, the oracular pig had disappeared.

"Hen?" Taran called. He looked at Fflewddur. "Where did she go?"

Helplessly, Fflewddur shook his head. He turned to Eilonwy, and she too, was at a loss.

"I can't imagine where she's gone," she said. "And Gurgi has been busy with Melyngar all this while."

"She can't have run off again," Taran gasped. In a trice he'd turned about and dashed off into the woods, calling his pig's name again and again. Eilonwy and Fflewddur tried their best to look around the rest site, in case she came back. But she was well and truly gone.

Taran came back. He had had no better luck than the others. "She's hiding somewhere, I know it." Bitter tears were threatening to spill out of the corners of his eyes. He sank to his knees and covered his face. "I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, not even for a moment," he murmured. "I have failed twice."

Eilonwy knelt beside him. "Let the others go on," she said kindly. "We'll find her and catch up with them."

But just then, the companions heard the long, belling cries of hounds, and five haunting horn notes rang out. They seemed to pierce the very air. The hair on Fflewddur's forearms and neck stood on end. He did not need to ask. He knew. They all did. "Where Gwyn the Hunter rides death rides close behind," he murmured.

* * *

**A/N: Coming 2/5: Outrun and outflanked and fleeing for her very life with an Assistant Pig-Keeper, Eilonwy is truly terrified for the first time in this story next week. **

**Thanks for your support.**

**God Bless,**

**LMSharp **


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